


Rescuing the Rookie

by missblueeyes63



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brotherhood, Drama, Gen, Hero Clay, Hurt/Comfort, Mission Fic, Rookie Clay, Whump Clay, Whump Sonny, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-03-26 17:12:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19010188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missblueeyes63/pseuds/missblueeyes63
Summary: Clay has only been with Bravo a short while when they are spun up for a protection mission. An RPG attack separates Clay and a repulsive protectee from the rest of Bravo team in an area filled with rebels bent on killing them.  Can Clay keep himself and the woman alive until Bravo can find and rescue them ... or will her actions cost Clay his life?This is 'R' in the Alphabet Injuries collection.





	1. RPGs and Repulsive RaRa

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to do another rookie Clay story ... before he was sure his brothers would always come for him and before he felt like they were his family. Love the angst of him not knowing and having to rely on himself ... until he can't and then his brothers come along.

**_Democratic Republic of the Congo – Clay’s Location_ **

“RUN!” Clay ordered as he grabbed the sleeve of the celebrity Raechella Rake, known as RaRa to her fans, and shoved her towards a building. He gritted his teeth as the annoying woman, who refused to replace her high heels with the serviceable boots Davis offered before they left the aircraft, stumbled with every damned step. When one of the spiked heels snapped, Clay caught her before she face-planted in the rubble. Her uneven hobble further impeded their race for a defensible spot.

“MOVE IT!”

“Don’t you yell at me!” Raechella growled. “This is all your fault and now you are going to pay for my shoes. They are custom made by Roberto … five thousand dollars.”

Clay would’ve laughed, but he didn’t have time. His job, whether he liked it or not, was to ensure Miss Rake stayed alive. Whoever authorized her trip to this war-torn hellhole should be raked over hot coals … or at least be the one saddled with babysitting her. But no … that duty fell to him as rookie of Bravo. To be honest, he lost the rock, paper, scissor throwdown with Brock when the more senior members pointed to them to be the ones to manage the rude and haughty celeb.

Three feet to relative safety from flying bullets, Clay overheard Ray in his headset, “Bravo Six, down NOW!”

Without reservation or hesitation, Clay launched himself at RaRa, taking them both to the ground. His body covered her as an RPG hit the third floor of the structure that he planned to take cover in. Rubble rained down on them, ramming into his back, making him happy for the cushioning his pack and the protection his armor plate provided him.

Although he used his arms to partially cover his head, one fairly large rock, brick, piece of mud-concrete … whatever, smacked the side of his skull, ringing his bell, and making him wish he wore a helmet today, but being incognito had been the plan of the day, so no helmet.

As soon as the debris quit raining, Clay gained his feet, dragging RaRa up with him. Though damaged, this building would provide refuge and give him a moment to reassess his options without them being as exposed. Once inside, he lowered his now quiet charge to the floor, and peered out the doorway, hoping to locate his teammates. Being separated from them would be a surefire way to end up dead.

He pushed away the images of the van exploding in front of their car after being hit by an RPG. The men inside never had a chance. Though he didn’t know the FARDC soldiers who were killed, their deaths as far as Clay was concerned were a senseless waste in a conflict which tore apart this country for twenty-three years.

Sighting a man on the roof across the plaza with a rocket-propelled launcher pointing in his direction, Clay sent a bullet down range, and pink mist bursting from the man’s head told him it was a kill shot. Though Ray had warned him to get down, Clay now wondered where he and the rest of Bravo were. He didn’t see them.

“Bravo Six to Bravo One.”

Silence met his call.

“Six to any Bravo element.”

Nothing.

“Havoc, do you copy?”

When he received no answer, Clay grabbed his radio from his waist, and the reason became obvious. The durable device was no match for bullets. He thanked whatever fate allowed the slugs to find a home in the radio instead of him. The grating voice of RaRa pulled his attention from the outside.

“You didn’t have to land on me. I was running as fast as I could. You ripped my designer shirt. That will be another two thousand added to your bill.” Raechella scowled up at the soldier as she took off her shoe to dump out the offending gravel.

Having had enough, Clay bit out, “Saved your fucking life. I’d call us even. Besides, all my money is taken up buying beer.” Clay couldn’t believe the last slipped out, but it was the truth. He probably owed the team at least a dozen cases for all the firsts of this mission.

Rubbing the side of his head, Clay’s fingers came away damp with blood which he wiped on his pants. He figured the rock must’ve created a gash, but he didn’t have time to worry about a minor injury.

Too wrapped up in her own little world to notice the soldier's head bled, Raechella spat out, “Don’t you cuss at me. You will speak with respect or I will be informing your commanding officer of your foul language and rough handling.”

Clay could only stare … thinking the dye used to color her hair radish-red must’ve seeped in and caused brain damage. His life as well as the ridiculous celeb’s depended solely on him until he could locate the team. He turned away from her to peer outside.

Squinting his eyes against the bright midday sun, he wished hadn’t lost his Ray-Ban sunglasses when RaRa slapped his face as he pulled her from the car right before another RPG blew it to hell like the one in front of them. His head pounding, Clay focused on searching the possible positions the others might’ve taken cover.

He had only run a few ops with Bravo, still surprised the Great Jason Hayes selected him, but his training kicked in and his gaze hunted for his scattered teammates. Clay realized Ray at least spotted where he was headed if he called out the warning to him. Now he had to decide if staying put or moving out would be the safest course of action.

Unfortunately, the decision was made for him in the next moment. He turned, crouched, grabbed the shoe from RaRa’s hand, snapped off the spike and shoved it on her foot. After pulling the reluctant woman to her feet as she ranted at him about breaking her shoe, he pushed her to the rear of the room.

They needed to haul ass or the massive number of ADF rebels arriving in technical vehicles would overrun them in less than five minutes. Their only chance of survival would be finding transport or a hidey-hole, and Clay hoped for a vehicle of some sort because it was unlikely RaRa would be able to keep her trap shut unless he shoved a rag in her mouth to gag her.

* * *

_**Havoc** _

Richard Wimbly got into the lieutenant commander’s face, and spittle came with his ranting, “What do you mean you lost her? How could you lose RaRa?”

Blackburn wiped his face but didn’t back down. “A rebel force ambushed them.”

“How? I thought you were supposed to be hot-shit, the best.”

Undaunted by the rat-faced man, Davis answered, “Perhaps if you didn’t publicize her visit and route, the rebels wouldn’t have decided she would be easy to take for ransom.”

“But RaRa is loved. Her adoring fans would want to come out to see here. A rare opportunity for them,” Richard retorted.

Eric turned back to the comms, giving a slight nod to Davis to relocate the slimy public relations representative for RaRa. If anyone was to blame for this going off the rails, it was Wimbly. The man blatantly ignored all their security protocols, which were meant to keep RaRa safe, by tweeting and posting her travel details on facebook.

It pissed him off, mostly because it put his team at risk too. As evidenced by them nearly being blown up by RPGs. He lifted the mic and said, “Havoc to Bravo One, sitrep.”

* * *

_**DRC – Bravo’s Position** _

As Trent splinted and wrapped his wrist, Jason replied, “Bravo One. No change. Bravo Three, Bravo Six, and the protectee still unaccounted for. Two is up top scanning for Three. The rebels converged on the building Six headed to with our protectee, but they aren’t celebrating, so somehow the rookie managed to get the hell out. Just don’t know in what direction he went. Smoke is too thick from the fires to see much.”

“How’s your wrist?”

“Sprained, but usable. Not an issue.”

“Can you hold your position? Are the rebels aware of your presence?”

“Under the radar for now.”

Ray cut in, “Found Three. We gotta get him. He’s buried in the rubble … looks like his leg is stuck, but other than that he is moving. We need to move now … a group will be on him in less than two mikes.”

Racing down the stairs, Ray met Jason, Trent, and Brock at the bottom, and led the way to Sonny.

As they rounded the corner, Sonny had already rendered two of the eight lifeless, but being trapped with no cover, if they hadn’t arrived when they did, Quinn would’ve met the Grim Reaper today. The gunfire alerted other rebels who came running. Brock and Trent rushed to uncover Sonny as Jason and Ray picked off rebels who were retarded enough to poke their heads up.

Once freed, Sonny tried to stand on his own, but pain radiated up his right leg, and Trent noted blood covering his jeans. They were not wearing uniforms for this op, supposed to keep a lower profile, so they wore street clothes with their dark vests.

Trent swung Sonny’s arm over his shoulder. Brock took point, glad Cerb had not come with them. Jason and Ray covered their rear as they rushed for another building. They entered and exited out the back, ran down the alley, in through another house, out the front, and continued through the maze of buildings before putting enough distance between them and the rebels so Trent could check Sonny’s wound. 

* * *

_**DRC – Clay’s Location** _

Surprised the singer was not winded by their mad dash, Clay realized she probably exercised … which worked in their favor at the moment … the only thing which did. The rebels continued to follow, no matter how many turns he made.

Clay was running low on ammo … though he supposed that was another thing going for him … he was able to hit each target he aimed at and so conserved what little he did have. Halting at the next corner, Clay took a breath and peeked. Relieved to find it clear, he moved again, and his shadow, who had become quiet, gripped his pack and followed him step for step.

Near the outskirts of the town, city, whatever, with the houses and covering becoming sparser, he needed to find a location for them to rest and hide while he got his bearings and could determine how the hell to get them out of here alive. Approaching a door, he stopped again, just as the rusty hinges squeaked as it opened. Clay had his weapon ready to take out the person if they posed a risk.

A teenage girl’s brown eyes widened, not at the gun, which didn’t appear to faze her, but at the woman behind the man. “RaRa … RaRa.” She went on to ramble in French, gushing over her favorite singer.

Fortunately, Clay understood and asked in the same language if anyone else was in the house. When she shook her head, Clay gripped her arm as he pushed his way in, RaRa following as he said, “Your lucky day, RaRa wants to visit with you.”

Once inside, Clay rapidly cleared the structure, a tin, one room, ramshackle then took up a sentry position at the door.

Raechella peered at the ruthless man she had initially believed to be a baby-faced rookie. But he killed over a dozen men without blinking an eye, and it made her sick to her stomach. She didn’t speak the language, so she had no idea what he said to the girl, and she was only glad he didn’t shoot her too. She sank to the floor, her feet aching … running in broken high heels was not fun.

Without taking his eyes off the window, checking for threats, Clay asked the young girl, whose name was Ryta if anyone else lived here and when they would return. He found out only her mother and she shared the place. Her mom wouldn’t be home until after dark, having to work long hours to earn enough to buy food and send her to school. She rattled on how she got to listen to RaRa's music at school because her teacher liked the artist.

When a cup appeared before her, Raechella curled her lip in a sneer. “What is this?”

Clay glanced over. “Ryta is offering you water. I have a bottle in my pack which would be safer … don’t want dysentery.” Shifting off his backpack, a stab of pain made itself known in his side. He hissed as he pulled out two bottles and a candy bar. Speaking French, he held out the candy to Ryta and told her RaRa had to drink special water and not to be offended by her not accepting her kind offer.

“What did you say to her?” Raechella asked as she twisted off the top and guzzled half the water.

“That you appreciated her kindness and wanted her to have the chocolate as a treat.”

“But don’t we need those supplies if someone doesn’t come to get us before nightfall?”

The redheaded woman before him disgusted Clay. So self-absorbed and clueless to the suffering of people around the globe. He witnessed her repulsed expressions as they toured the orphanage and school she was supposedly funding. Clay quickly grasped the only reason RaRa was here was self-promotion and a publicity stunt after she had been lambasted in the press back home for some offensive and racist comments she made.

Clay uncapped his water and sipped. The pain in his right side required him to check it out. His hand came away damp again, and he brought it forward, finding blood. “Well, shit.” He lifted his shirt and tried to twist his head to see if he needed to do more than just slap a bandage on it, but he couldn’t, so he turned to RaRa. “How big is the gash, is it deep?”

Raechella gagged and ralphed.

Ryta raced forward, grabbing the only stool in the place, speaking rapid-fire French telling him to sit, her hands reaching out to help.

With Ryta’s assistance, Clay determined it was not a major wound, yet not so minor as he could ignore it. His med-kit came with a staple gun, and the teen pulled the ragged edges of his skin together and with his instruction stapled him closed. Miss Rake only gaped at them after she finished puking.

Pulling his shirt down, Clay stood, and handed the pleasant and helpful teen another candy bar, thanking her for assisting him. His gaze returned to RaRa, and his grin faded. “Time to go. The rebels will kill Ryta if we are found here, and I certainly don’t want that to happen.”

“But we can’t go out there. They will find us.” Raechella backed up as fear increased. “Besides, I can’t walk anymore. My feet hurt. You ruined my shoes.”

Clay seized RaRa’s arm. “We’re leaving. Had you taken the boots Davis offered, your feet wouldn’t hurt.”

“They weren’t designer. I can’t be seen in something so tacky and rustic. I have an image … a brand to protect.”

Muttering under his breath, Clay said, “And I have a rash, spoiled brat with no sense to protect.”

“What did you say?”

“Let’s go. Now!” Clay tugged the revolting woman to the door. “Keep your mouth shut and do as I tell you and you might live.”

“Might?” Raechella’s mouth went dry. “You mean you will kill me if I don’t?”

“You’re fucking ridiculous. Do you possess even one brain cell? If I wanted you dead … which quite frankly is surprisingly not as abhorrent as I once thought, I would’ve let the dozen men I killed have you.”

Clay’s words had the desired effect. The stupid redhead shut her pie-hole as her eyes widened. He realized if they got out of this with their lives intact, he would probably be dressed down by both Blackburn and Hayes for his rash words, but at this point, his head and side hurt too much to give a damn. He needed to find a way back to Bravo and get rid of this responsibility.


	2. Regrouping and River Crossing

_**Havoc** _

Jason deposited Sonny on a gurney near the entrance, leaving him in Trent’s care. They lucked out and found a truck which they used to exit the area crawling with rebels. It was one of the hardest decisions he made to retreat without Clay, but they would all be dead if they hadn’t. They would regroup, jock up, resupply, and rescue their rookie. He hoped in the time it took them to race back to the airport, Blackburn had found something to give them lead on Spenser’s whereabouts.

Richard Wimbly glared when five members of Bravo came up the ramp. He went on the offensive, singling out the leader. “Why did you leave RaRa out there. Get your asses back there and find her!”

Jason kept walking, disregarding the repugnant rat he deemed responsible for the RPG attack which separated him from his rookie and yeah, his protectee too. His destination was Blackburn who gathered with Ellis and Davis around the ISR feed. They needed a plan, resources, and a heaping ration of luck if they were gonna find and rescue Clay. “Eric, what do you have for me?”

Grabbing hold of the soldier, Richard roared, “DON’T YOU IGNORE ME!”

Whipping around, his uninjured hand ramming Wimbly into the racks on the side of the plane, Jason pinned the singer’s rep with a steely glare radiating barely controlled rage. If his wrist wasn’t sprained and he needed it to be in somewhat working order to help the kid, the repulsive man’s teeth would be down his throat … courtesy of his fist.

“Don’t you touch me again or I’ll rip your fucking head off and repatriate it up your ass. You’re the reason my rookie is out there alone trying to keep himself and your precious RaRa alive. So back off, sit the fuck down, shut your goddamn mouth, and let me do my job.”

Eric’s brows arched, not because of Jason’s words, but because of the restraint he showed. “Jace, we might have a location. Davis captured an image about ten minutes ago of two people on the edge of the town.”

Ray joined Jason to view the footage and review the maps of the area. Meanwhile, Brock was jocking up Cerb and locating one of Clay’s t-shirts to give the hair missile a scent to work with once they got close.

Trent had Sonny drop his pants and began to clean the wound which required stitching. On the way back, Sonny argued with both Jason and him that he was fine to go when they located Spenser. Assessing the gash, Trent shook his head. “Think you need to sit this one out.”

“Like hell. Clean it, sew it, and I’ll be ready. Not leaving that kid out there. Got some serious payback in mind.” Sonny eyed Trent. He refused to be put on the injured reserve.

Holding his tongue, already aware Sonny tried to reach Spenser right after they exited the vehicles as the rebels launched RPGs from several directions. It was how Sonny ended up buried in the rubble. Trent also understood Quinn would do whatever necessary to get their brother back … they all wanted revenge for the actions of the rebels. “Can’t give you anything strong to reduce the pain, if you’re coming with us.”

“Don’t need anything. Do it. Git ‘er done so I can restock my ammo.” Sonny gritted his teeth as Trent rinsed out the wound. He might pop a few ibuprofen tablets, but that’s all. He needed to be sharp and would use his discomfort to strengthen his resolve to get their pain-in-the-ass, overconfident, and reckless rookie back. Then he would read the kid the riot act for running the wrong damned way.

* * *

_**DRC – Near River** _

Clay pressed on his side, wanting to rest, but they were not yet in a place he felt comfortable stopping. He edged round the corner of the building, hoping he gave the slip to the last group of relentless rebels. He needed to conserve what ammo he had left because, at this point, he figured he and Miss Rake would be spending the night in this wretched place.

“I’m tired. I gotta rest.” Raechella leaned on the mud hut house and wrinkled her nose at the revolting stench. “What is that rancid smell?”

“The river … they use it for refuse and sewage. Don’t get any in your mouth when we cross.” Clay took a deep breath … as deep as his sore ribs would allow. Although his pack and armor saved him from busted bones, the pummeling his body received as the rubble fell on him left him bruised and feeling the aches now.

“I’m not wading in a cesspool. You’re out of your cotton-picking mind if you think for one moment you can drag me through there.”

“Drag you, I will. Better to deal with a little crap than stay here and end up being raped if they catch you.”

“Raped? They wouldn’t dare. I’m RaRa.”

“They wouldn’t give a damn if you were the Reverend Mother. Women are subjected to all manner of degradation here. We need to make it to the trees … then you can relax for a few minutes.”

Clay started forward, glanced back, and sighed when RaRa refused to move. “Coming of your own volition or would you rather remain here and be gang raped?”

Reluctantly, Raechella followed. _This reprehensible man will rue the day he treated me so shoddily. He might be riding all high-handed now, but I’m going to make sure his commander knows what a raunchy person he is and he will be reprimanded … might even get kicked out of the military … serves him right._

Halfway across, RaRa slipped. Clay had to dive after her, and she came up sputtering, ranting, and swinging at Spenser. Clay hissed as she landed a hit to his stapled side. He wanted to shove her face under the water in retaliation and to silence her before she attracted the notice of the rebels, but he kept hold of her arm and dragged with him, ensuring she didn’t drown.

They reached the opposite bank of the river, RaRa’s rage in full form, not heeding Clay’s repeated orders to be quiet. The shots which rang out were what finally shut her trap. Clay thrust RaRa in front of him and urged her to run, using his body to shield hers as well as possible.

Searing pain burned his arm as a bullet passed through it. Clay didn’t have time to think much about his discomfort. Gaining cover of the trees, he pushed RaRa down as he pivoted and began returning fire. When the skirmish ended, ten rebels floated downstream with the rest of the rubbish.

Wanting nothing more than to rest, Clay took a moment to pull out a piece of gauze, tearing off just enough to wrap his bleeding arm to stem the loss of vital fluid. He would do what he could to clean it later, once he found a safer place to stop for a five-minute respite. Clay pulled out a bandana to wipe his face of sweat and river water.

Standing, needing to put distance between them and other rebels who might be drawn by the gunfire, he seized RaRa’s arm again and yanked her up. “Ten more men are dead because you couldn’t keep your damned mouth shut. If you don’t keep quiet, I’m shoving this rag in your rapacious fly-trap and gagging you.”

Raechella glared defiantly at the grubby rag in his hand. “You wouldn’t da—”

Clay rammed cloth in her mouth and jerked her forward. _I’m so done with her shit … if she wasn’t my mission, I would be tempted to leave the reprehensible bitch to her fate._ Clay dug deep for his reserves … he needed every ounce of his stamina and patience to get out of this alive and without killing RaRa himself.  

After spitting out the offensive fabric, Raechella curbed her tongue. _I’m gonna ruin this SEALs career. He can’t treat me like this and get away without repercussions._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clay's thoughts might be a little out of character, but then again, RaRa is rather reprehensible. Somewhat shorter chapter, but I wanted to give you something without waiting a long time.


	3. Raring to Go and Repayment for Protection

_**Havoc** _

After a delay, getting authorization from the local government to operate hot in conjunction with the DRC military, the men of Bravo plus support were jocked up and raring to go. They were about to stride down the ramp to join the locals when Davis called out, “Got something!”

Jason hurried over with Ray and Trent behind him. Brock led Cerb down to do his business before leaving, and Sonny remained where he was, his leg throbbing and figuring he wasn’t needed so would conserve his strength for when it mattered.

The group watched as Clay and RaRa crossed the river, cringed when the kid had to dive after her, grimaced when the singer hit Clay, and he dragged her out. The ensuing firefight left them a little in awe of their rookie … he was damned good to take out ten on his own while corralling the RaRa beast.

Trent’s eye caught something the others missed. “I think he was hit in the arm … the way his body jerked.”

“Make sure your med-kit contains the supplies we might need,” Jason said before getting the coordinates from Davis to relay to their partner force who were supplying transportation and additional firepower for the rescue mission.

They rushed down and out, grateful for an exact location, but ticked it was at least twenty minutes from their current position. Anything could happen in that span of time.

Sonny rubbed his sore leg after he hopped into the back of one of the trucks with the rest of the team and said, “These Congolians—”

“Congolese,” Ray corrected.

“Congo-bongos for all I care, if the rebels harm a hair on our rookie’s head, I’m gonna be having me a Texas Roasting?”

“Aw, you like the kid,” Trent quipped, keeping from Sonny the potential Spenser had already been harmed … and more than just a hair.

“Didn’t say that,” Sonny groused.

“But you’re all defensive.” Trent’s eyebrow arched in a challenge.

“Nah, … just we got the pup partially house-trained. Don’t want to be startin’ all over.” Sonny unconsciously rubbed his leg again.

Trent didn’t miss the action but kept quiet on that front too. A slight grin grew as he thought about Clay’s and Sonny’s interactions. Their rookie appeared to be getting under the Texan’s skin. Would be interesting to watch that relationship grow, cause once the Mighty Quinn deemed someone worthwhile, he became their staunchest supporter. And there was just something about the blond mop of cocky bravado which drew them all to him. He hoped they got to him in time.

* * *

_**Rainforest** _

RaRa’s silence only lasted a few minutes before she began bitching again. For the most part, Clay ignored the rude commentary flowing from her mouth. The woman was a real piece of work, and her true colors revealed an ugly soul who only cared about herself and material items.

Fatigued, Clay forced himself to keep moving. His head throbbed with every heartbeat. His arm had gone numb, which couldn’t be a good thing, but at least it didn’t hurt. His side ached, the staples tugging with every step.

He was sweating and cold at the same time, which Clay understood meant infection must’ve set in … how could it not with his swim in a river filled with raw sewage. If only RaRa had not slipped, he could’ve prevented introducing more bacteria to the gash. The through-and-through didn’t help much on that front too. His shirt had been doused in the garbage, and the bullet’s route dragged the fabric through his body, likely leaving a trail of nasty waste.

“I’m tired. I have blisters. You need to carry me. I can’t walk anymore. It hurts. This is all your fault … you will carry me … now!” Raechella demanded.

His knees buckling, Clay hit the dirt. He shifted to his butt and leaned against a tree.

“Get up and get me out of here … NOW!” Raechella put both hands on her hips, her face florid with anger.

Clay peered up at RaRa, his eyes glassy with fever. “Sit. Rest.”

“But you said we needed to keep going. The rebels …” Raechella sat on a fallen log and slipped off one shoe. “See a massive blister. I will be sending you my medical bills too. And the cost of missed concert dates because I can’t possibly be on stage until after I recover from this rotten ordeal. I’m going to need therapy to deal with being in the company of a cold-blooded killer … you shot down over two dozen men, and it means nothing to you.”

He didn’t bother to respond. The woman before him didn’t live in the real world … one where her pea-sized blister would be a minor inconvenience, not a disability claim. Instead, he did his best to remain conscious and vigilant, hopeful his team lived and would be coming for him soon.

“It’ll be dark soon. I’m not spending the night in this rainforest. Do you even know where we are?” Raechella continued her diatribe, completely unaware that the man who saved her life numerous times today was in significant pain and struggling to remain awake.

Clay breathed a sigh of relief when she finally shut up, but it was short lived when he caught the sound of a twig snapping and rustling of foliage. He lifted his weapon and pointed in the direction of the noises. _Please don’t let it be more rebels … please._

The head of a baby rhinoceros broke through the brush, and Clay chuckled with real relief … _no rebels, at least not yet._

“Why are you laughing? Shoot before it rams me.” Raechella scrambled away, hiding behind the soldier she despised.

“You don’t want me to kill a unicorn, do you?”

“Unicorn? Are you daft?”

“Um … no …” Clay shifted slightly as a huge, he assumed, mother rhino appeared. “Chubby unicorns won’t hurt you if you stay still and be quiet … their eyesight is crap and they use their ears.”

Raechella’s eyes widened. “You’re insane.”

“No, only feverish. Shut the hell up. Let them munch on roots and grass in peace for Gods’ sake.” He lay his rifle on his knees and opened his med-kit, pulling out a gauze pad and ointment. “Here, tend to your blister.”

Grabbing the items, her eyes never leaving the rhinos, she grumbled as she sat in the dirt. “You should do this. I’m not a doctor.”

“Neither am I.” Clay murmured, attempting to keep his eyelids up, but they became heavier and more challenging to lift second by second. They shut as he began shivering. _I’m in real trouble. I can’t protect us in this condition, but I must try._ With the combination of blood loss, exhaustion, and fever taking their toll, Clay lost his battle with consciousness.

Raechella complained as she rubbed ointment on her toe and put the pad on before slipping her foot back in her shoe. “Here … take these. I’m done.”

She dropped them in his lap but blinked when she got no response. She grabbed his injured arm, shaking him hard, and he only slumped to the ground, giving her no reaction. “Great! Just great … now you decide to take a nap. You are a worthless security guard.”

RaRa huffed and bitched for a while longer as she opened his pack and pulled out the last water bottle and the three remaining candy bars. She greedily consumed everything leaving nothing for Clay. When darkness descended, she pulled her legs to her body, wrapped her arms around them and ranted at the sleeping man about how she would have him removed from the SEALs and ruin him for the rest of his pathetic life.

* * *

_**Nearing the River** _

The sun had set on their way to the river, and they were still about two clicks out when Blackburn came over their comms. “Havoc base to Bravo One.”

“Go ahead, Havoc.”

“Be advised rebel reinforcements have amassed slightly downriver of your intended location. They will have a clear line of sight to your position.”

“Copy. We’ll replan. Hold for details.” Jason rapped on the cab of the truck, and the commander of the local military unit stuck his head out to reply. After a brief conversation, they had a new plan, and Jason conveyed the strategy to Havoc.

The truck halted, and Bravo hopped out close to where Spenser crossed the river. Then the DRC force continued to where the main group of rebels had congregated. They would engage them there and provide a distraction for Bravo to wade across and enter the rainforest, hopefully without being spotted.

As they moved through the outskirts of the village, the buildings offering cover became sparse, but the darkness provided them some concealment. Coming to a ramshackle tin house, Jason put up his hand, indicating everyone stop. A rusty-hinged door opened and a woman stepped out into the night.

Rena gasped when she saw the soldiers, but not in fear. Using decent English, she said, “You must be looking for your man and that ghastly woman.”

Jason blinked. “You’ve seen them?”

“No, not me … my daughter. Ryta.”

At her name, Ryta appeared at the door. “Mama?” Her eyes widened upon viewing the dog. “Oh, a puppy. He is cute.”

The guys glanced at one another, surprise lighting their faces at the nonchalant reactions of the females and the fact they spoke English.

Brock pulled Cerb back. “Don’t touch … he is working.”

Cerb remained where he was, but he liked the scent of the girl and would’ve been receptive to a pat or scratch.

“Ryta, they are searching for the man you helped earlier. Please tell them what you told me.”

The teen smiled up at them, her teeth bright white in the darkness. “I opened the door, and there they were. I spotted RaRa and became excited.” A disgusted expression covered her face. “Don’t like her anymore. She is rude and mean. I did what mama said and only spoke French when alone.”

Rena inserted, “Speaking English can get one killed here. Safer for my daughter to stay with French.”

Jason nodded. “Go on. You said helped … was one of them hurt?”

“Yes … the blond man.” She ran her hand along her side. “He was cut here. Long and deep. I helped staple him together while that witch only vomited and complained. He had dried blood on his head, too but didn’t do anything to clean it off. He gave me two candy bars and thanked me for my help. I hope you find him. He was really kind to me.”

Trent’s stomach clenched as he thought about what a swim in the filthy river might mean for the rookie.

Ray asked, “Anything else you can tell us?”

“Only he looked tired … and he squinted a lot. Being with RaRa would surely give anyone a headache. She is not a pleasant person.”

They all nodded in response. Oh, they knew … the ride to the orphanage and school had made it quite clear her stage persona nowhere resembled the real person. Miss Rake was a loathsome raptor who would happily verbally tear out anyone’s throat for any implied rebuff or offense.

“Thank you. Go inside … don’t come out. Rebels are about, and we don’t want you to be hurt.” Jason gave the signal for Ray to take point, and they moved out. 

* * *

_**Rainforest** _

A bloodcurdling scream roused Clay. More groggily than he desired, he gripped his weapon and searched for the reason. Not finding any rebels, Clay blew out a breath, winced as he rose after spying RaRa frantically wiping at her legs. “What?”

RaRa’s rage-filled eyed bore into Clay’s. “I hate reptiles.”

“Too bad you don’t like your family,” Clay let slip out a thought he didn’t mean to say aloud. He leaned on the tree as she sputtered and treated him to a long list of places he could shove his head … ‘up his rump’ made him chuckle despite his ragged condition. She was verbally cutting but didn’t use curse words … strange.

Rustling in the bushes caused him to prepare to react. He hoped the incoming was rhinos again, but RaRa’s scream likely alerted the rebels to their location. He shushed her, and pushed her behind him, taking cover as best he could, hoping the dark would make them difficult targets.

His luck ran out as sounds encroached from all around them. _Shit. If this isn’t Bravo, we’re dead._

It wasn’t. Clay picked off two rebels behind him and urged RaRa with a terse, “Run. I’ll hold them off as long as I can.”

RaRa ran. Clay fired until he depleted his ammo. Shaking with adrenaline and chills, Clay withdrew his knife and prepared to take them on in hand-to-hand combat to give his protectee as much time to flee as possible. But Clay knew he was outnumbered and this would be his last stand … he would make it count.

He went after the closest one, slashing the man’s throat before they comprehended he had gone on the offensive. As their buddy fell and blood gushed from his neck, and he made a death gurgle, they realized the soldier was deadly without a gun. Six men rushed him at once. Though Clay got in several cuts, he was disarmed in a matter of moments, taken to the ground, and trussed up like a hog, hands behind him and tied to his feet.

They began kicking his torso, the blows to his soft belly and ribs caused him to gasp for air. He overheard one man give an order to halt the attack. He wanted him alive so they could ransom him. The same voice ordered men to find the useless female.

Clay must’ve drifted out because when he next opened his eyes, RaRa was next to him, hands tied in front of her, feet too, gagged with a rag … small favor …, and glaring at him like she wanted to run him through with a sword.

The rebels had made camp … complete with a fire … and were gathered around said campfire swilling something from bottles, congratulating themselves on capturing the man who killed many of their buddies. He closed his eyes and listened to all the things they planned to do to him in retribution. Clay again wondered if Bravo made it out of the RPG attack alive and if they were searching for him … he didn’t know.

A sharp pain took his breath away when something rammed into his ribs. His gaze landed on RaRa … she had kicked him. And the evil bitch was pulling back to do so again as she mumbled something incomprehensible through her gag. Clay attempted to roll out of the way, but she connected with his chest, on his cut side.

The pain was so intense when he heard a sickening pop. He struggled for breath. Fear washed through him when he realized a rib must’ve broken and punctured his lung. _I do all I can to protect her, and the royal pain-in-the-ass repays me by killing me …_

_._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you hate RaRa as much as I do. My evil muse likes to create despicable characters with no redeeming qualities sometimes.


	4. Recuse Plans Gone Awry and Minor Retribution

_**Rainforest** _

Sonny crouched in the underbrush waiting for Jason, Brock, and Ray to position themselves closer to the group of rebels. His job would be to grab the woman, and Trent to drag Clay to safety before the shooting started. Luckily, the captives were separated from those around the campfire. Apparently, the leader of the group didn’t think RaRa and Clay could escape, and they were now celebrating, passing around bottles of alcohol.

Stealth was the only option to exfil this rainforest alive. It would be a snatch and grab by Trent and him while the others covered their asses as they ran like hell. If the rebels noticed their hostages missing, then Jason, Ray, and Brock would take care of things, but they all hoped to get out without gunfire alerting the larger force downriver.

“What the fuck!” Sonny murmured when he witnessed RaRa kick Clay as the kid lay hog-tied across from her. His hackles rose, and he wanted to charge out there and smack her—one of the few times when he would feel no qualms about hitting a woman.

There were only other two times … once when a female terrorist played his team false and ended up knifing Trent, and the other when out of the blue a woman at a bar racked his balls and slapped his face accusing him of accosting her, to make her boyfriend jealous.

The first woman he knocked out with one punch before she could stab Jason, and the second, well, instead of smacking her, the boyfriend didn’t fare too well after the guy sucker punched him. It satisfied him when the resentful boyfriend told her to piss off and hit the road when he found out what she did.

“She’s a real bitch.” Trent let out a low growl when the singer kicked his wounded teammate.

“Agree.” Sonny itched to act, and when RaRa kicked Clay a second time as he tried to roll away, Quinn almost gave away their position, swallowing his rage and desire to yell at the redheaded miscreant.

Trent did react when he witnessed the guppy gulping and wild fear in the kid’s eyes. He raced out, keeping low, but instead of snagging him and carrying him to safety, Trent whipped out his knife and sliced the rope binding Clay’s feet to his hands, then cut the binding holding his wrists, but didn’t waste time releasing his ankles. He positioned Clay on his back and probing his ribs, found what he suspected … at least two fractured.

“Bravo One, got a problem … Four’s deviated … out in the open.” Sonny keyed his comms to inform Jason as he moved closer, hoping like hell none of the rebels spotted Trent.

“Four, Whiskey, Tango, Foxtrot,” Jason hissed.

Instead of answering Jason, Trent leaned in close to Spenser as he shifted off his pack. “I got you. Can’t breathe?”

Astounded and grateful Trent appeared out of nowhere, Clay nodded, trying not to panic, but the pressure in his chest hurt like hell and scared the crap out of him. He couldn’t get any air.

RaRa started moving, making a bunch of muffled sounds and glaring at the other soldier.

Trent keyed his comms, “Three, shut her the fuck up. Six is in respiratory distress … tension pneumothorax. Ya’ll need to cover me, or he’s dead.” He opened his med-kit and withdrew supplies.

Sonny moved forward, clamped a hand over RaRa’s mouth and harshly whispered, “You make another sound, I’ll snap your neck and blame it on the rebels.”

Raechella’s eyes rounded as she stilled. She believed the soldier.

Trent sliced open Clay’s shirt. Fortunately, the rebels had removed his armor … or possibly it was not fortunate because RaRa’s kick probably wouldn’t have broken the ribs. As he used povidone solution to sanitize Clay’s chest, Trent whispered, “Gonna do a needle decompression to release the pressure. Sorry, no time for pain meds.”

If Clay could speak, he would’ve said, ‘do it.’

After inserting a large bore needle in the second intercostal space, at the midclavicular line, Trent visibly relaxed when a rush of air exited the needle. He removed the 14-gauge needle, leaving the catheter in place and proceeded to secure the tube with tape. 

Clay drew a breath, his eyes communicating thanks.

“Line in … gotta be careful moving him. Can’t sling him over my shoulder as planned,” Trent communicated in a quiet tone to the others.

Sonny removed the bindings from RaRa, gave her the evil eye to remain still and silent, getting satisfaction from her reticent behavior. “The repugnant roach can walk by herself. We each take an arm and put the kid between us.”

Trent nodded. Sonny sliced the rope from around Clay’s ankles before assisting him to his feet. Almost home free without being discovered, fate had other plans for them as one of the rebels noticed and called out to his buddies. All hell erupted.

Sonny and Trent slung Spenser’s arms over their shoulders and ran … both not giving a damn if RaRa followed them … which she did. The other members of Bravo mowed down the rebels, but they understood it would draw more men, so they needed to high-tail it out of the area.   

* * *

_**Nearing the River** _

The team raced pell-mell through the rainforest towards the river. Pain exploded in Clay, and he blacked out shortly after Trent and Sonny hoisted him up. When Sonny’s injured leg buckled once, Jason switched places with him, taking Clay’s weight. Quinn’s limp became more pronounced they ran, but he refused to fall behind, digging deep into his reserves to keep up.

Raechella muttered, quietly, with one eye on the burly Texan, fearing he would actually kill her. She stayed closer to the one they called Reynolds because he seemed the most rational man among these rough killers … or at least the least vocal.

Hearing Clay’s ragged breathing hitch as they approached the tree line close to the riverbank, Trent slowed. “Jace, need someplace to reassess Spenser. And I gotta cover the catheter with a waterproof bandage before we cross.”

Jason halted, and they lowered Clay to the ground, still concealed by trees. He moved forward checking down river, noting the local force still engaged the rebels in a fierce gunfight.

Ray sidled up next to Jason and spoke quietly, “We need a place where we can regroup and rest, or we’re gonna be carrying Sonny soon. He’s hurting bad, but reluctant to admit it. The trees don’t provide us defensible cover … we’re wide open from all directions.”

“I know.”

Brock joined them and suggested, “How about the house with the teen who helped Spenser?”

“Jace!”

“Yeah?” Hayes turned to Trent at his urgent call.

“The kid’s in bad shape. Lost a lot of blood with the GSW and with a rib puncturing his lung he’s likely bleeding internally. He’s also got a raging fever.” Trent cleaned a section of Clay’s chest to start a blood transfusion.

“Havoc, jackpot. Say again, jackpot. Need air CASEVAC, Bravo Six is down … critical. Can cross the river for extraction, but will put us in a tight spot.” Jason gazed downstream, not liking the DRC military appeared to be retreating … which might spell doom for them with two injured men and their protectee.

“What is your current location?” Eric responded.

“Riverbank, where we initially waded across.”

“Let me see what I can arrange.”

“We’re crossing and holing up in a safer location,” Jason reported.

“Copy. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can … the locals are engaged in a hot and heavy situation, so I’m unsure if they are willing or able to extract.” Eric paced, thoroughly frustrated. He had already requested air exfil and been denied. 

“I’m not going in that again,” RaRa pointed to the river, “Someone must carry me over.”

Having held his tongue for longer than normal, Sonny got in her face and said, “You’ll walk like us or I’ll shove your face under and hold it there until you quit kicking.”

“Quinn, stand down and move away. Now!” Jason barked. He didn’t like the woman any more than the others, but threatening to kill her would bring a heap of trouble they didn’t need, and they needed to focus on getting out with their skins intact right now.

“You. Don’t. Know. What. The. Bitch. Did.” Sonny ground out, enunciating every word.

“Three, nows not the time. Later.” Ray stepped closer to Quinn, reasserting the command chain as Jason moved to help Trent with the kid.

Fuming, but biting back his words, for now, Sonny nodded. Part of him realized if he told them what RaRa did to the kid, they would be one shy when arriving back at Havoc because Jason would likely lose his shit and actually drown the redheaded bitch for hurting one of his team … even the rookie who hadn’t completely gelled with them yet.

“Can we move him?” Jason asked Trent.

“In a moment, let me finish covering the catheter. Don’t want to be introducing more shit if we drop him in that polluted water.”

“Well, we aren’t going to be dropping him then.” Jason positioned himself to lift Spencer, a pang of guilt for leaving him in charge of the repugnant woman. If he had taken charge of her, as he should, the kid wouldn’t be conversing with the Grim Reaper or knocking on death's door.

“Okay, ready.”

The two lifted Clay in unison. Ray took point, followed by Sonny, RaRa, the trio, and Brock, who hooked Cerb to his chest to protect his dog from swimming through the raw sewage water. Their luck held out, and they crossed unseen, making their way to the little tin structure.

* * *

_**Rena’s & Ryta’s Home** _

Rena ushered the men in with open arms but reluctantly allowed RaRa into her humble abode. Her attention went directly to the unconscious man who could only be the one her daughter spoke so highly of and indicated they should lay him in their only bed. Her temporary residence was rather small and seemed more so when filled with seven others and one dog.

“Is there anything you need that I might be able to provide?” Rena asked.

“Thank you, but all we require you have already given us,” Ray said as Trent and Jason lowered Clay to the thin mattress and he took up a sentry post at the door.

Ryta noticed one on the men stood awkwardly, favoring one leg, she hurried over with the only stool and offered it to him. “Please, sit. Rest.”

Sonny grinned at the thoughtful teen. They were invading her home and putting them at risk, but she went out of her way to help. “I understand you like candy bars.”

“A little.” Ryta smiled but leaned closer. “What I really like are puppies.”

“Brock, want to introduce Cerb to Ryta.” Sonny sat, doing his best to hide the hiss of pain as Brock brought over Cerberus and allowed the hair missile to receive pats and both he and Brock grinned as Cerb rolled over for a belly rub.

RaRa stood in the corner, her arms crossed, pissed off … partly because her fan ignored her and she spoke English to the soldiers. She remained silent because when she opened her mouth on the way to this ramshackle place, the reasonable quiet guy who walked behind her whispered that if she made a sound, he would give his dog the command to rip her throat out. So, he wasn’t so reasonable after all … he was as rude and ruthless as the rest of these men. _They will all rue the day they mistreated me … I’m RaRa, and I deserve to be treated with respect._

Palming a morphine injector Trent handed him after concluding their non-verbal conversation regarding Sonny’s condition while he cut away their unconscious rookie’s shirt, Jason stood and stretched his shoulders and back. The kid was heavier than he appeared … all muscle. “Brock, come give Trent a hand.” He stepped over to the other side, where Sonny sat. “How ya holding?”

Sonny peered at Jason, hiding his pain behind a rough veneer. “Right as rain and raring to go, Boss.”

“Bullshit!” Jason crouched, and in one swift motion, he jabbed the injector into Sonny’s uninjured thigh and released a partial dosage of the painkiller.

“What the FUCK!” Sonny jerked as Jason rammed a needle into his leg.

“Rest. Not enough to take you down will only take the edge off. We might be here for a while … something in Blackburn’s voice told me getting cooperation for a helo isn’t gonna happen and I need you to be able to run if necessary.”

“Roger.” Sonny leaned against the wall, relishing the slight reprieve from pain as the medication began to take effect.

When Jason called him over, Reynolds left a relaxed Cerb in the care of Ryta who appeared to be in seventh heaven, yammering away at Cerb in a mix of English and French. Brock took a knee on the opposite side of Trent. “What do you want me to do?”

“I gotta remove the remaining staples from his side. The wound is infected, and it appears he’s been kicked there too.” Trent’s gaze briefly shot daggers at RaRa. Her struggling with and hitting Clay in the river likely dislodged some and drove others deep, and her kicks did the rest of the damage. The result was a mess, and he must reclean, restaple, and redress the wound.

Returning his focus on Brock, Trent added, “Need you to hold him still if he happens to wake. Hope he remains unconscious ‘cause this is gonna hurt like a bitch.” Receiving a nod from Brock who also shifted, repositioning himself to restrain Clay if required, Trent put on a new pair of gloves and grabbed the staple remover.

Rousing, in extreme pain, Clay blinked his eyes open, only to slam them shut again with a whimper. The agony in his side as someone tore him apart was overwhelming and in his fevered state, Clay began mumbling and crying out as he tried to get away.

“Damn he’s strong. Jace, need another set of hands,” Brock called out as Clay thrashed, keeping Trent from doing what was necessary.

Jason returned and held the kid’s legs as Reynolds attempted to push Spenser’s shoulder’s down to keep him still. The moans and cries from Clay unsettled Jason, as did the incoherent words tumbling out in a begging tone.

Brock leaned close as he held Clay's upper body down and tried to break through and offer reassurance. “You’re okay, brother. Stay still. Trent will be done in a minute. Come on … relax. Quit fighting us. Sorry, we gotta do this.”

Lifting his gaze to Trent, Brock barked, “Jesus man, Trent, give him some fucking morphine.”

“Can’t. Might depress his respirations. With one punctured lung, can’t take the risk. Especially if we aren’t getting air-evaced.” Trent continued to pluck out the staples.

“Wonder what the heck he is saying?” Jason said as the rookie bucked again and screamed as Trent removed another staple.

Rena, who until now stayed out of their way, moved forward. “He is calling for his mother or grandmother. He is saying he won’t be bad again and is begging to be allowed to go home.”

“What language is he speaking?” Jason wondered what was going through the rookie's mind.

“He’s alternating between Hausa, Yoruba, Swahili, and something I don’t recognize. Impressive.”

“Can you tell him to hold still?” Trent requested, fearing Clay would be doing more damage if the kid didn’t stop rolling about.

“Yes … though I’m not sure, that will work. His fever is making him delirious. I’ve seen this, many times, when I worked at the mission hospital.”

“Are you a nurse?”

“No, I only washed the linens. That is until the mission was overrun by rebels and destroyed. Ryta and I had to flee.” Rena moved nearer and spoke to the agonized young man, but as predicted he didn’t settle.

“How do you say stay still you are safe in those languages?” Brock asked, hoping if he spoke, Clay might respond.

Rena coached him, and Brock tried Swahili, Yoruba, and finally Hausa, “Kukaa bado wewe ni salama. Duro sibẹ o wa ni ailewu. Zauna har yanzu kana lafiya.” The last registered a response from Clay. His body went limp as he connected with Brock’s eyes. Though Brock couldn’t understand Clay’s words, the vulnerability in his blue eyes was hard to miss.

Brock released his grip on Clay’s shoulder and stroked his hair as he would Cerb’s. “Okay. You’re gonna be alright. You are safe.” He repeated the last part in Hausa. “Yanzu kana lafiya.”

Clay leaned into the touch, whimpers eking out with each painful tug.

Trent pulled the last one and picked up the bottle of disinfectant. "This is gonna sting. Be ready for him to react."

When something cold and wet hit Clay's side, he screamed once before oblivion took him away, giving him reprieve from agony.

“Thank goodness. I was rather sick of listening to him crying and carrying on like a retarded baby. Aren’t you soldiers supposed to be rough and tumble and able to withstand a little pain? My ears are ringing from his appalling whining,” RaRa griped to no one in particular.

That was the last straw for Trent. In a flash, he was up and had RaRa pinned to the wall, his hands around her throat. “YOU FUCKING BITCH. THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT. IF YOU HADN’T HIT HIM IN THE RIVER OR KICKED HIM IN THE REBEL’S CAMP … I WOULDN’T NEED TO REPAIR THE DAMAGE YOU CAUSED.

“HE ALMOST DIED OF A COLLAPSED LUNG AFTER YOU RAMMED YOUR FEET INTO HIS SIDE. I SHOULD KILL YOU RIGHT HERE AND DUMP YOUR REVOLTING BODY IN THE FUCKING RIVER. YOU’RE NOTHING BUT GARBAGE ANYWAY.”

“Oh shit, the cats outta the bag now,” Sonny said, as he rose in unison with Jason and Brock, all moving towards their normally even-tempered medic.

Shocked by Trent’s outburst, Jason rushed over and seized one of his medic’s hands as he demanded, “Let go. Release her.”

“NO, SHE’S GONNA REAP HER REWARD!” Trent growled.

Morphine making him less Rambo-like than usual, not adding his hands to the fray, Sonny nodded. “Bitch needs to be taught a lesson.”

“Not our lesson to teach,” Ray said from across the room, stunned and outraged at Miss Rake by Trent’s accusation as Brock gripped Trent’s other arm to pry his fingers from around RaRa’s neck.

Raechella’s eyes rounded in fear, and her face becoming almost as red as her dyed hair. When released, she slumped to the ground, and her hands went protectively around her own neck as she gulped for air.

“What the hell was that about?” Jason pinned Trent with a disbelieving glare. Never had Sawyer gone off the deep-end like that before.

“You heard me … hell, the rebels probably did. Sorry about that, but I’m not sorry for going after her.” Trent pointed to the bed. “She dares to ridicule him when she is the one responsible for his injuries and the pain I must cause him.” He raked a gloved hand through his hair, leaving traces of Clay’s blood in it.

Nodding in agreement, Sonny sat on the stool again. “Didn’t want to say anything yet. Thought you would rip her to pieces, Jace, if you knew what she did. Don’t like her … hate her, but, well, shit, she’s our responsibility until we can dump her back on the plane. She ain’t worth ruining any of our careers.”

Moving back to Spenser, Brock noted Cerb had taken up a guard position next to their rookie. The revelation rattled him, and he said, “Half tempted to sick Cerb on her … rip her throat out … but I don’t want him chewing on something so rancid.”

Dropping to his knees, Brock stroked the kid’s hair again. Though Spenser was not much younger than him, at the moment he looked just like a kid … vulnerable … and something akin to the feeling he had for Cerb formed and grew in Brock. Soft and gentle, he whispered, “Me and Cerb will always protect you, little brother.”

Cerb nudged Brock, seeking permission to come closer.

“Good boy, Cerb. Protect.”

Cerberus rested his paw on Clay’s hand. _I’d bite her now for what she did to you, but I might end up with rabies or something worse. Though if she comes near you, she is fair game and I’m willing to risk tearing her apart. You're now part of my pack ... you're my boy ... and no one hurts my boys_ _._

Frustrated by the events, Jason realized this mission had been a royal clusterfuck since they had been assigned. Someone would need to answer for putting his men at risk and in charge of this reprehensible woman. He keyed his comms as Trent returned to Spenser. “Bravo One to Havoc. Status on CASEVAC?”

“Still working the issue. Hang tight,” Eric reported.

“Roger.” Jason hated not being able to move out and get both Clay and Sonny back to the plane. As much as RaRa’s actions pissed him off, his priority was working the problem of getting them back. Later he could deal with the bitch.

“So we’re probably gonna be hoofing it out unless we can find transport of some sort around here,” Ray said.

“Appears that way to me too. Need a litter to carry the kid.” Jason replied.

A screech from RaRa made their heads swivel to find out what occurred. All the men stared, somewhat shocked as they all snickered at RaRa’s current situation.

Enraged, Ryta stood next to RaRa, an empty bucket in her hand, as she reamed the woman. “I can’t believe I ever liked and respected someone as remorseless and repulsive as you. You are rotten to the core without a single redeemable quality. You’re so awful I can’t even call you a reptile because they are nicer than you.”

Raechella sputtered as she stood, brushing off rotted food her former fan dumped on her. The reeking liquid, from what she couldn’t gather, dripped from her hair and stained her ruined blouse. She backhanded the girl … the resounding smack drawing immediate action from Cerberus who ran and leapt, knocking RaRa to the ground and stood on her chest with his teeth bared and emitting a low throated growl.

“CALL THE DOG OFF!” Raechella screamed, terrified.

A red print formed on Ryta’s check as she rushed to her mother’s arms. Tears sprouted as she said, “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t let her get away without some sort of retribution for hurting him.”

“Shush. Not exactly how I would wish you to respond, but I understand. And she had no right to hit you.” Rena dried her daughter’s tears.

Jason sighed. "We can’t get back soon enough." He signaled Reynolds to call off Cerb and leaned against the wall beside Ray. “This is one hell of a mission.”

“I hear ya, brother.” Ray checked outside, relieved to find no rebels coming their way. “So, any ideas on how we might get the hell out of here before someone actually kills RaRa?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed RaRa getting a little taste of retribution. Also thought it would be fun to let Trent be the one to go off on her. He's usually mild-mannered, but like all of them Trent does have a fuse and she lit it.


	5. Rena’s Request and Jason’s Rage

_**Rena’s & Ryta’s Home** _

After debating in her own mind ever since first encountering the soldiers and for the last hour as the men took care of their injured teammate, Rena finally got up enough nerve to approach their leader and make her request. “Excuse me.”

Jason turned his attention to Rena from Ray with which he had been discussing exfil options since Blackburn had yet to secure a helo for them. “Yes.”

“I might be able to help … and I will, without reservation, but perhaps you can help me too.” Rena wrung her hands, waiting, and her eyes darted to Ryta … she would do anything for that girl … even stay here.

“How can you help and what do you need in return?” Jason shifted the weight of his rifle, his mind open to any suggestions. As an operator, they prided themselves on working the problem and often finding unorthodox answers to achieve their objectives.

“I know where to obtain a van. And I’d like you to take Ryta and me with you back to America.”

Jason blinked. Unorthodox was one thing, taking locals with them quite another. A small part wanted to agree … lie … and leave them after getting the vehicle … but a significant piece, his conscience, wouldn’t allow him to do so. “We can’t take you to the U.S.”

Rena glanced down, took a deep breath, turned her eyes to Ryta, tears welled as she confessed, “My name is Rena Radcliff. I am an American citizen. I can’t prove it, my documents were lost years ago, but I am. I came here twelve years ago as part of a missionary group. I wanted to help others. I worked at a mission as a teacher, and that is where I met Ryta.

“She was only three. Ryta came to our mission with her mother, Sephora, who did the laundry. Sephora and I became friends. When the rebels attacked ten years ago, only Ryta and I survived … we barely got out before they burned the building to the ground. With all my documentation gone and no money or way to contact my family in the States, I did what I could to make a living. Ryta was only five and orphaned, so I took care of her, and she became my daughter.

“We are only here now because the rebels ransacked the village we lived in last year. I want more for Ryta … a better life. If I could only return home, I can make that happen. The problems I have though are I can’t prove who I am, and there is no documentation for Ryta. And even if someone believed me, I won’t leave my girl. She comes, or I stay. I will not abandon her.”

Rena wiped at the tears, but straightened her spine, and held her head high. “I will help you because it is the right thing to do. I hope in return you can help us.”

“Jace, we have no proof,” Ray said, though his gut churned. They could get into a whole lot of shit if command learned they snuck someone into the country … even if Blackburn allowed it … which he probably wouldn’t.

“I say we take them. Cake eaters and red-tape be damned,” Sonny voiced his opinion.

Trent twisted to peer at Jason after starting another bag of saline. “The kid might die if we don’t go soon … his abdomen is becoming more rigid. With the internal bleeding, we can’t wait for Blackburn to arrange with the local dimwits.”

Brock remained quiet but smiled at Ryta. He would win a wager if he placed one on Jason agreeing. His attention and Trent’s returned to Clay as he moaned and stirred. It appeared in the past hour his fever diminished some after Trent gave Clay a fever reducer and started antibiotics in his IV.

Clay’s world came into focus slowly as he opened his eyes. The ungodly pain he felt when RaRa kicked him still present, but somewhat muted, particularly if he remained absolutely still. His processing speed impaired, it took him a moment to register he was no longer in the rainforest trussed up like a hog. Memory of Trent appearing out of nowhere returned as he set eyes on the team medic.

Scanning, he noted Reynolds next to him and Cerb. Across the room was Hayes, Perry, Quinn, and a woman he didn’t recall. He groaned again as his eyes landed on RaRa. He mumbled, “Fuck, she survived.”

Trent and Brock both chuckled at Clay’s first words noting where he was staring. Retaking the kid’s pulse, Trent said, “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

“Where am I?” Clay asked and grimaced as he lifted his arm to rub his aching head. He had to drop his hand mid-way, not having enough energy to finish the trip and the pain spiking as he realized that was the arm with a bullet hole.

Ryta moved to the bed, smiled and waved. “Hi.”

Confused, Clay answered in French, “Pourquoi es-tu ici?”

“I’m here because this is my home. Oh, and I speak English too. But I’m not allowed to when Mama isn’t home.” Ryta reached out to pet Cerb again.

Clay’s eyes shifted to Trent, then to Brock. “Am I hallucinating? Wait, don’t answer, cause if I am you might say no, and ah hell, my head hurts.” He closed his eyes, and a moan escaped again as his side and arm throbbed.

“I know you hurt. I can’t give you much morphine due to your punctured lung, but I’m gonna give you a little now and a bit more before we move out. You’re gonna just lie here and not move until then. Understand?” Trent injected a partial dose.

The prick of the needle was all Clay needed to recognize he was not hallucinating. Though it was hard to think through the pounding headache and fuzziness, Clay realized he had been the weak link. He wondered what this would do to his position on Bravo. He was the rookie, and perhaps Hayes would cut him from the team.

He had not gone in the direction Sonny directed him to when the RPGs were fired. Undoubtedly, it wouldn’t matter to the Master Chief if he told them RaRa ran and he followed her … that was his job … to protect her and so he did. But they might see him as incapable because he couldn’t corral one woman wearing high heels.

“I asked if you understand you aren’t to move,” Trent said more harshly than he meant, concerned by the pain lines and lack of response after Clay initially appeared aware.

A breathless, “Yes,” came from Clay after a tightness in his chest formed. One that didn’t have to do with physical trauma. He had been excited Bravo chose him, but now they might change their minds … especially if he was gonna be out for weeks to recover. Hayes would likely pick someone else to be Six, and he would be relegated to a support position.

Brock refrained from carding his fingers through Spenser’s hair now that the kid was awake … he might find it weird and react by pulling away, and Trent needed Clay to remain still to lessen the internal bleeding. Instead, he patted his shoulder. “Good, boy.” He rose when Jason motioned him over to him and Ray.

 _Boy? I’m not a boy! I might be the last to join the team, but I’m no boy. And damn, I’m only a couple of years younger than Reynolds. Shit! This mission might be my last._ Additional thoughts stalled as the morphine took full effect, pulling him down into a nebulous world where he floated in and out of his past.

Images of his first time in Africa, when he was sent to live with his grandparents in Nigeria, filled his mind. The nights he spent crying for his mother, begging his grandmother to send him home, believing he had been bad and sent away from his father as a punishment. A terrifying time when the only people he could talk to were his grandparent because he didn’t understand the language. A lonely time because they were always busy, and there were no kids his age to play with.

When Clay began whimpering and mumbling again, Trent did what Brock had done, running fingers through the sweaty mop of blond curls. “Hey, you’re safe. Just relax, Kid.” A hand gripping his shirt surprised Trent. He looked down, and Clay latched on. Trent rested his other hand on Clay’s hoping to provide reassurance.

The cocky bravado which typically exuded from this young SEAL was replaced with what appeared to be repressed fears. He now viewed a hurting and scared kid. Something changed within Trent. Sure, he cared about all his teammates and called them brother, but he never experienced this deep sense of concern and connection for any of his previous brothers so quickly.

Jason strode over to the medic. “Rena indicates the van is about a quarter of a mile. Will he be okay for that distance if we carry him, or do we need to bring the vehicle here?”

As much as Trent wanted to restrict Clay’s movement, he understood the risk of returning here. “Should be doable. I’ll give him a bit more morphine, so he doesn’t cry out and give us away.”

Jason nodded. “Okay. Get him prepped. We leave as soon as you are ready.”

“We taking Rena and Ryta?”

“Yes. Mandy owes us one. She can figure out all the red-tape. Maybe classify Rena as an asset or something.” Jason grinned at the teen. “Pack only what you can carry.”

* * *

_**In Village** _

Bravo made it only one street over before the lights of a truck flashed at them from a short distance away in conjunction with Rob’s voice, the leader of the support team, coming over comms, “Heard you boys needed a ride. We left the party early to pick you up.”

Relieved chuckles sounded from all of Bravo except Clay who succumbed to darkness when Jason, Trent, Sonny, and Brock each lifted a corner of the blanket which would suffice as a litter. After a brief check-in with Havoc, where Blackburn sighed, glad for Rob’s quick thinking and decision to leave the DRC force to deal with the rebel faction down the river, they loaded up. There was only room for Clay, Sonny, RaRa, Rena, and Ryta in the back, once three of the support hopped out. The rest jogged beside the vehicle as they proceeded to procure the van.

Once they had both vehicles, they moved RaRa to the old van and Trent took her place so he could tend to Clay. Everyone was relieved when the singer remained quiet throughout the remainder of the journey to the airport.

* * *

_**Airport Tarmac – Bravo’s Plane** _

Davis watched as the men piled out of their acquired transportation, wishing she could’ve worked some magic to get a helo. Her eyes followed Sonny as he limped towards the ramp. Their friendship ranked at the top of her list and was the longest one she had on record. His weird and sometimes raunchy sense of humor drew her to him, as did his drive and determination. Somehow, they clicked, though they were quite different.

Her eyes shifted as the other four boys lifted Spenser onto the gurney she positioned ready for their arrival. Lisa still was not sure how she felt about the new guy. Their first encounter when he was a strap, sometimes played in her mind. His cockiness when he wanted to hang a hammock, set her teeth on edge that night, and she had to shut him down.

Since he joined, well, things improved. His kid-in-a-candy-shop expression when she told him to give her a list of what gear he wanted still made her smile. As she viewed Brock lightly stroke the blond mop before striding towards the ramp with Cerb trotting beside him, Lisa reckoned perhaps behind all Clay’s swagger and arrogance lay insecurity … much like her. _Fake it until you make it_ had been her mantra for years to cover her self-doubt.

Davis caught sight of RaRa and clenched her fists, tension causing her to become rigid. She wanted to lash out and slap the woman for what she did to Spenser in the river. She rewatched the ISR feed and RaRa hitting him after he dove in to save the overrated celeb didn’t sit right with Lisa.

Before she did something she would regret, Lisa pivoted and went to make sure everything Trent might need would be handy. Though the team’s doctor rarely came with them, Dr. Irving ensured they traveled with a fully stocked emergency medical kit in case proper treatment facilities were unavailable, which happened on occasion. And today they would need them because the nearest hospital was at least a five-hour flight.

After helping lay Spenser on the gurney, Hayes made a beeline for Blackburn. Hot under the collar, all the shit they went through and what happened to the rookie all coming to a head, Jason blew his top. “THIS CAN NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN. WE ARE NOT BODYGUARDS FOR HIRE BY SOME RICH REDHEADED CELEB WHO MANIPULATED SOME CAKE EATER TO ASSIGN US.”

“Ratchet it down a notch, Jason. Not the time nor place for debrief.”

Jason pointed at the gurney, ignoring Blackburn’s light reprimand. “THAT KID … MY ROOKIE … HE ALMOST DIED BECAUSE OF RAKE. HE WAS HOG-TIED BY THE REBELS, BUT BREATHING FINE UNTIL THAT BITCH KICKED HIM … TWICE. TRENT HAD TO RISK HIS LIFE TO SAVE SPENSER’S, BREAKING COVER BEFORE WE WERE IN PLACE.

“THE KID GOES ABOVE AND BEYOND TO SAVE HER SORRY ASS, AND THAT IS HOW SHE REPAYS HIM. KICKING HIM SO HARD HIS RIB PUNCTURES HIS LUNG. YOU SHOULD’VE SEEN THE MESS SHE MADE OF HIS LACERATION. SHE RIPPED OUT SOME STAPLES WHEN SHE HIT HIM IN THE RIVER, AND HER KICKS DROVE OTHERS IN SO DEEP THEY TORE THE KID’S SKIN APART.”

Eric groaned. The flight home with a rip-roaring, raging-mad Hayes confined in a metal tube, albeit large one, would be no one’s idea of fun. To control the situation, Eric became stern and commanding, something he had to on rare occasions when Jason came dangerously close to stepping over the line. “Master Chief Hayes, get your men situated so we can take off. We’ll deal with the other once we’re in the air."

As the gurney passed, Jason clenched his fists, swallowed his next angry rebuke, refocused on his team, and reined in his rage enough to lower his voice, but his tone left no question he remained furious, “Copy. But we aren’t done here. She needs to be held accountable for almost killing one of my men.” Jason stomped up the ramp.

Eric blew out a breath, and his attention was drawn to the high-pitched whiney voice of Miss Rake who now clung to her rep Richard, telling her side of the story to a sympathetic ear. Likely the only one she would encounter until they returned home. He noted the support team gave her a wide berth and Bravo completely ignored her cries for help walking.

If the situation weren’t so fucked up, he would’ve laughed outright when she crumpled to the ground, sobbing, and Richard, who probably weighed all of a hundred and thirty pounds with no muscle, struggled to pick her up. Instead, he moved forward … the joys of being a mid-level officer meant he must deal with her to shield his men. And he would, without reservation, because for all of Jason’s reputation as a hot-head, he didn’t rage without cause.

However, with his focus on RaRa and her representative, and hoping he could rein in the boys of Bravo so they didn't throw RaRa out of the plane at 40,000 feet, Eric failed to notice Ray escorting two local females onto the plane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now ... I'm not sure if Jason planned for his outburst to be a distraction to get Rena and Ryta onboard ... but it worked. Fireworks will likely fly in the next chapter ... I'm also hoping I can rein in the boys so they don't throw RaRa out of the plane.


	6. Reamed, Restricted, and Regrets

_**Bravo’s Plane – Inflight** _

Clay blinked open his eyes, disoriented for a moment by the sounds filling his ears … no longer eerily quiet. The familiar drone of the C17’s engines told him where he was … on the plane, and they were in the air.

“Hey, how’s the pain?” Trent asked noting Clay’s eyes opened.

It sucked, he friggin hurt, but replied, “Fine.”

“Okay. If it becomes too much, you let me know. Can’t give you much, but this is a long flight so I can give you little doses to help take the edge off if needed.”

Clay nodded, which he wished he hadn’t as the throbbing in his head increased. Thirsty, he licked his dry lips. “Water?”

“Sorry, no. Nothing by mouth. This will have to do for now.” Trent took a damp rag and wiped Clay’s lips. “When’s the last time you ate something?”

“Not sure … before we left.”

Sonny hobbled over upon hearing Spenser. His face set in a stern line. His emotions, yeah, he had them, running every direction. His main thoughts centered on how this whole damned result could’ve been prevented. The rookie should’ve listened to him.

Clay spotted Sonny and read his expression. _Yeah, he’s gonna ream me  … I’m gonna lose my position on Bravo if Quinn has anything to say about it._

Chewing on his toothpick, Sonny had a moment of indecision but plowed forward as rage from an unknown source surged in him. “You and me are gonna have us a talk, Rugrat. What we have here is not a failure to communicate. It is a failure to listen. I tell you to go right you damn-well go right!”

Clay’s stomach clenched, and he recognized he needed to rein in his cockiness, but Quinn’s rebuke got his hackles up, so he retorted, “Just doing my fucking job. When the—”

Sonny interrupted, waving up and down Spenser’s body. “This shit wouldn’t have happened had you listened to your more experienced betters, Rookie.”

“Sonny! Now’s not the time.” Trent tried to intercede as he threw a glance at Jason and Ray, who were far enough away not to hear the exchange.

“I kept the bitch alive, didn’t I. Though perhaps I should’ve let the rebels take her,” Clay ground out as he twisted, trying to sit up. He refused to take Quinn’s shit lying down. Pain lanced through his chest. He gasped. His eyes rounded when not enough air filled his lungs. Clay sucked in another breath … and began to panic as pressure began to build. The expression on Quinn’s face became unreadable to Clay as Trent laid him flat and told him to relax and breath as he put an oxygen mask over his face. He would've complied if he could.

Eric’s head throbbed after listening non-stop to RaRa for the past thirty minutes. The thought of lowering the ramp and tossing her out without a chute didn’t seem quite as objectionable at the moment. For a woman who made a living as a Christian singer, she failed miserably in showing any sort of compassion for anyone other than herself.

Having had enough, for now, Blackburn rose, intending to check on Spenser’s condition. The self-absorbed, pea-brain of a woman injured the kid while he tried his damnedest to protect her. Eric took two steps away before the wretched voice capable of stripping paint off the hull of a ship started again.

“Don’t you dare walk away while I’m speaking. Yours and your team’s rudeness will reap repercussions. Hopefully, as much as will befall that jackanape who was supposed protect me. He is going to rue the day he said he was going to rape me and leave me in the rainforest for the rebels to do the same.

“I tried to get away from him in the river, but he grabbed my arm and overpowered me. I had to run when he shoved me in front of him when the rhinos charged us. He ruined my clothes … ripped my shirt when he tried to paw my breasts. I will see him put in prison.”

Eric wanted to tune her out. Everything spilling out of her mouth was ridiculous. Commotion at the rear of the plane drew his attention, and he started running as Trent shouted, “CLAY’S IN RESPIRATORY FAILURE. WE NEED TO DO RAPID SEQUENCE INTUBATION.”

Trent pushed Sonny out of the way as he reached for the intubation kit to prep his supplies as he directed, “Brock, crank the O2 to a hundred percent. Ray position his head and neck. Jace, push 1.5 mg/kg lidocaine, 0.1 mg/kg midazolam, and 1 mg/kg rocuronium through his IV.”

As a team, the four men worked efficiently to prepare Clay for intubation as Eric, Lisa, and Mandy looked on and the only noises to be heard where the aircraft’s engines and Trent’s instructions … a pall draping over all of Bravo and most of the support team.

Sonny limped to the webbed seat across the way … guilt surging in him. _What the fuck did I just do?_

* * *

_**Italy Airport – Bravo’s Plane** _

Eric stood toe-to-toe with Jason as Sonny limped and Clay was rolled down the ramp, surrounded by medics who would transport them to the Naval Hospital. The issue … not allowing any of the other Bravo members to go with them in the ambulances, not even Trent, is what pissed Jason off the most. “They’re in good hands. Qualified Navy doctors and nurses to tend them.”

Jason raked his fingers through his hair. He made his case, a weak one, but the only one he had. “He’s a rookie. Shouldn’t be left to wake up alone after what Sonny said to him. And fuck … Sonny shouldn’t be alone either. He’s blaming himself.”

Eric pointed to Rena and Ryta. “They are the reason you are staying put. Sneaking them aboard is gonna cause enough shit. You are ordered to remain on the plane.”

Tugging on Jason’s sleeve, Ray said, “Jace, let it go. Blackburn is right. We’re in enough trouble as it is … don’t cause more.”

Not quite ready to give in, Jason said, “For the record, we didn’t sneak them on. You just didn’t see them boarding. And Rena is an American who needed rescuing. That’s what we do.” Jason’s eyes tracked RaRa’s path as a medic pushed her out on a gurney … at her insistence, she couldn’t possibly walk even with assistance to the ambulance.

She made such a big deal of an insignificant blister it made him want to laugh in her face, but he restrained himself. Her accusations regarding Clay set him on fire, and if Jason got within striking distance, he would’ve decked the rabid bitch. Though he possessed no worries Spenser wouldn’t be vindicated, mostly because Rake kept revising her tale of woe each time she related it, and her details didn’t reconcile with the evidence obtained from ISR footage or the report provided by Ryta.

“Don’t split hairs with me, Jason. I’m too tired for this shit. You, Ray, Trent, and Brock are all to remain here until I sort some things out. Is that clear?”

“Crystal.”

A weary sigh escaped, and Eric softened a bit. “I’ll work as fast as I can. You’re right about Sonny not being left on his own for too long, but Clay isn’t likely to be awake for some time.”

Ray suggested, “Send Davis to stay with Sonny. She’ll keep him in line and might help him deal with … well, what he thinks he did.”

Eric nodded. “Reasonable solution.” Taking a glance at Rena and Ryta again, he admitted, “Personally and off the record, I’m glad you brought them. And as you requested, Mandy is researching ways to facilitate their entry and validate Rena’s claim to citizenship.”

His gaze reverting to Hayes, he added, “Rack out … you’re all exhausted.” He strode down the ramp, certain Bravo would stay put as ordered, but doubtful any of them would sleep.

* * *

_**Naval Hospital Naples, Italy** _

Lisa entered Sonny’s room to find him glowering at the wall. This wasn’t going to be easy. The big lug had a heart of gold, and he would be beating himself up regarding the chain of events. She made it fully into the room and set the bag of food on the rolling table before Sonny acknowledged her presence.

“Hey, Cowboy. Thought you might be hungry, so I brought you something.” The soulful blue eyes which pierced her, caused her to inhale sharply.

“How’s the rookie?” Sonny ignored the food.

“Don’t have an update other than he is in surgery.”

“My fault … couldn’t keep my mouth shut.”

“Whoa! Hold on there, big guy. What happened to him isn’t your responsibility. I lay the blame squarely on RaRa.”

“He was breathin’ fine until I laid into him and Spenser got all cocky back.” Rage from a still unidentified source ignited in the pit of his stomach again. “If the rookie only listened and didn’t get all—”

“STOP.”

Lisa’s yell halted Sonny for only a moment. “What? The little shit is too arrogant for his good. He ran the wrong way.”

Struggling not to get in Sonny’s face and ream him for his stupidity, Lisa crossed her arms and glared at him. Her silence made him stop, and when he did, she said, “Are you quite finished being a ridiculous and righteous ass? If not, please go on and dig your hole deeper.”

When he remained quiet, Lisa blew out a breath. “Here is a hard fact you aren’t aware of which you need to think through before you talk to Spenser. He did his job.”

“No, he went—”

“Shut it … I swear you are acting like RaRa.”

“Now that there’s a low blow, Davis.”

“If that’s what it takes to shut you up, then it is what it is. Are you ready to listen … and I mean really listen before you irrevocably fracture this team?”

Sonny reached for the bag. He didn’t understand his anger towards the rookie. Removing the take-out container from the paper sack, he spotted ravioli and used it as a distraction. “I’m listening.” He popped the top off and forked a huge piece into his mouth to prevent himself from interrupting Lisa.

Noting Sonny’s change in demeanor … the pasta working as she hoped it might … Lisa relaxed a little. “As I said, Clay did as ordered. His task was to protect that revolting woman. I had a bird’s eye view via the ISR. Spenser did not run the wrong direction. He didn’t ignore your instruction either. RaRa ran to the left after slapping him so hard it knocked off his sunglasses. Spenser reacted rapidly and raced after her. He chose the only refuge available to him and shoved her towards the building."

Sonny choked on his bite of ravioli as he swallowed. Davis moved forward and slapped his back … maybe harder than necessary … as he coughed.  Sonny leaned back after setting down the food dish. A soft, “Well, shit,” came out as more guilt landed on his already heavy burden.

After dragging over a chair, Lisa pulled her salad from the bag. She gave Sonny a few minutes to think through her words as she hunted and pecked for the olives she enjoyed. When enough time passed, she ventured. “There’s something else I want you to think about. It is only my suspicion, but.” Lisa paused, wondering if she should share her possible insight into Clay.

“But what?” Although no longer hungry, Lisa’s revelation wiping it out completely, he reached for the ravioli again.

“Mind you, this is only something that popped into my head, but part of me believes Clay’s cockiness is a shield to hide insecurity.”

Sonny snorted. “Yeah, right. Think you’re reaching there, Little Missy. He’s cocky because he believes he’s second generation SEAL royalty.”

Lisa arched one brow. “And you don’t think his father writing that book and being PNG’d caused Clay any problems … made things more difficult for him? I mean, everyone would respect him, right? Especially being the son of the Great Ass Spenser.”

Sonny snickered. “Ass … that’s good, Davis.”

“Well, do you?” Lisa eyed him, demanding an answer.

Rolling her remarks around in his brain, Sonny fought to reject the truth in them. “Son like father … a royal pain in the ass.”

“Really? You know Spenser so well to make that determination? What, if anything, has he done since he joined Bravo to give you that opinion? From my point of view, he’s done everything you all have asked of him. Hell, he’s going broke from all the beer he’s buying you all for all his firsts. Which if you would realize … aren’t firsts for him.

“He led six guys in Team Three, and now he is being treated like he doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. But for the most part, he accepts his rookie status in Bravo … well, as gracefully as any of you swaggering pipe hitters can. And what he brings to this team is as important and valuable as any one of you so-called _‘experienced betters’_ have to offer. And to boot, Clay possesses language skills most of you can only dream about having … fluent in six languages and a smattering of a dozen or so more.”

Again, Davis’ reflective words hit their mark, but Sonny wasn’t about to let her know because he didn’t understand why he was so angry with Spenser. So he changed the topic. “Where are the rest of the guys? Thought they would be here by now.”

“Blackburn restricted them to the plane.”

“Why?”

“Two words … Rena and Ryta.” Lisa lost her appetite and set her salad down.

“That’s three words.”

“Technically, yes. But the lieutenant commander is off doing damage control with them hitching a ride in our C17 and the whole RaRa business. Ellis is trying to gather intel to help with both issues. Jason and the guys need to keep a low profile while they attempt to resolve things, so none of you are rewarded for your efforts with ruined careers.”

Reamed out, rudderless and full of regret, Sonny pressed his head into his pillow. “So, the rookie is gonna wake up alone after I raked him over the coals for something that isn’t his fault. Not right … not right. Shit.”   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little Clay whump, and a little Sonny emotional whump was in order ... hoped you liked it.


	7. Retching, Rejoicing, and Rage

_**Italy Airport – Bravo’s Plane** _

The guys restricted to the plane realized, for the sake of the women now housed with them, they needed showers. Though with none available on the aircraft, each man took the box of wet wipes eagerly proffered by Rob. After Rob and the other members of support escorted the ladies down the ramp to preserve their sensibilities, they stripped off their reeking clothing and tossed them in plastic bags.

They did their best to clean up, given their limited facilities, then satisfied with their accomplishments they donned their civvies, and the others reboarded. After consuming several bottles of water and MREs consisting of mainly finger foods, they hung their hammocks and tried to sleep. None were successful in achieving more than intermittent rest.

After a fitful night, they rose and paced the plane like caged lions as they waited for updates on Spenser and Quinn. Six hours later, Davis called to give them the low-down on Sonny, who would be held in the hospital because a fever developed. Crossing the river of raw sewage and other garbage allowed an infection to set in via the smaller cuts Sonny got on his arms when the rubble crashed down on him in the initial attack.

She also communicated Clay came through surgery to repair his lung and ribs fine. And although he was still in ICU he was no longer intubated. Other than the positive yet minimal update, she couldn’t provide them a projection on his recovery, leaving them to aimlessly roam around the cargo bay’s interior until evening.

Nerves rattled, wondering how Eric and Mandy were progressing with the Rena-Ryta issue and RaRa’s allegations against Clay, they settled down to eat the decent meal Davis arranged to be delivered. They all enjoyed the creamy root vegetable risotto and roasted chicken. Exhausted and with nothing to do except read or play cards, the guys hit the rack again. But hours later, all remained awake and restless.  

The agonizing and unsettling sensation hit Trent first. With his stomach painfully cramping, he rolled out of his hammock, tripping, and then regaining his feet as he rushed to the only lavatory at the front. He barely made it there before he began heaving.

Retching out his innards was bad enough, but then diarrhea, and chills associated with a fever set in also. Sitting on the toilet with a bucket in his lap, pouring fluids out of both ends was not Trent’s definition of a good time.

Ray and Brock raced to for the two urinals in the aft together suffering the same initial symptoms as Trent … retching up all they ate into the small urinals. And ten minutes later Jason ran down the ramp and outside to hurl on the tarmac.

Embarrassed yet grateful when Rob had his guys bring them buckets when diarrhea hit, Brock and Ray reversed, dropping their drawers, their backsides now in contact with the cool steel and their heads poised over the buckets. Jason was helped back up the plane’s ramp and outfitted with two buckets for his needs.

Rob escorted Rena and Ryta outside and had three of his men string a blanket to provide the ill men some privacy in their hell. Understanding the seriousness of the problem, Rob rang Davis, who called Blackburn, who contacted the hospital, which sent four ambulances and a fully equipped medical team to assess and quarantine the non-symptomatic personnel on the aircraft.

Within thirty minutes, four were on their way to the naval hospital in acute distress, while a tent had been erected next to the C17, and those remaining, including Rena and Ryta, were undergoing a decontamination process.

Davis’ next call was to arrange for a cleaning crew to sanitize the interior and all of Bravo’s gear. Though she didn’t have official confirmation, she believed they picked up something nasty from wading through the river. She wondered if Sonny and Clay would be affected and wholly wished RaRa was suffering too.

* * *

_**Naval Hospital Naples, Italy** _

Eric strode down the hall at a rapid pace to the emergency room. Davis’ call interrupted a discussion with Mandy, they were making progress, and he hoped to have a resolution soon, but his attention reverted to the immediate needs of his men. He halted at the nurses’ station and said, “I’m Lt. Commander Blackburn. My men were brought in. I’d like an update on their condition.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll page the doctor, and he’ll be out when he can.”

“Thank you.” Eric pivoted, eyed the bank of chairs, but decided to stand against one of the walls, too keyed up to relax. This escort mission had gone to hell in a handbasket the moment Richard Wimbly tweeted RaRa’s destination and route.

Eric wanted to find a way to hold the man responsible for this fiasco accountable … prison would be acceptable for Richard, and RaRa as well. Though, if he had his druthers, drowning both in a river of shit would be more satisfying. Or perhaps a little less violent and more legal option, revealing to all her adoring fans what a hypocrite and revolting person she really is.

After a twenty-minute wait, a doctor emerged, and Eric stopped his reflections on all the ways he wanted to seek retribution against Miss Rake. “Doctor, how are my boys?”

“Quite ill. Due to their continual vomiting and the profuseness of diarrhea, I will be admitting them to the hospital for intravenous fluid replacement. After taking a history and doing an examination, my diagnosis is dysentery.

“I’ve sent samples to the lab for testing, to determine if the cause is amoebic or bacillary. However, given the severe and rapid onset, I started treatment before confirmation by laboratory analysis, which is standard procedure.

“They are being given ciprofloxacin, an antibiotic, to combat bacterial infection. I’m also administering metronidazole, an antimicrobial drug if it turns out to be caused by the parasitic amoeba, _Entamoeba histolytica_.”

Eric nodded. “And how long will they be here?”

“Depends on how well they respond to treatment. But most cases of amoebic and bacterial dysentery subside within ten days, and most individuals achieve a full recovery within two to four weeks. We will be moving them to rooms within the hour. Any other questions?”

“Yes, Petty Officers Quinn and Spenser … are they experiencing the same issues?”

“I’m not their treating physician, but let me check.” The doctor turned and went to the desk, tapped the keyboard, took a moment to read, and then returned to the Lt. Commander. “Unfortunately, yes, and also the woman who arrived at the same time, a Miss Rake.”

“Couldn’t happen to a more wonderful person,” Eric mumbled, glad RaRa ended up sick as well.

“What did you say, sir?”

“Nothing. Thank you for the information. Where can I find Spenser’s and Quinn’s doctors for a full update.”

“On the second floor. Quinn is in room two-o-seven and Spenser was recently moved from ICU to room two ten.”

“Thanks again.” Eric pivoted and needing a bit of caffeine headed for the commissary for a cup of coffee since the boys wouldn't be in rooms for a little while. He would take a short break before going to visit them all.

* * *

_**Naval Base, Italy – Conference Room** _

Mandy stood behind Lester and stared at the screen as a smile formed. “Well done. Your research is top-notch as always.”

“Thanks.” Lester hit print for Mandy. “Are you going to deliver the news to Hayes personally?”

Biting her lower lip, Mandy shook her head. “Can’t. He and the other guys are now all in the hospital. Turns out they really needed soap and water to destroy the amoeba they picked up in the river. The wipes they used to clean up didn’t kill it.”

“Damn. This has been a lot of extra work, but I feel pretty good about what we are doing, and I’m sure once they are feeling better, they will too.”

“Yeah.” Mandy took a moment to determine her next step. “Keep digging on the other issue.”

“Will do.” As Mandy turned, Lester asked, “Where are you going?”

Her smile grew, and she waved the printout at him, a lightness in her step as she exited the room.

Lester grinned and set to work again. Somedays he just loved his job and today was one of them.

* * *

_**Italy Airport – Tent Near Bravo’s Plane** _

Rena sat on the soft gurney beside Ryta as her daughter read a book one of the men offered her. She chuckled when she found out it was a romance novel … full of batting eyelashes and damsels in distress … not something she expected a rough and tumble SEAL would read. But then Rob explained he had three daughters and wanted to stay attuned to things in their lives. So he read the books they did … with much eye-rolling and a desire to ensure none of his girls were as helpless as many of the heroines in the novels.

Sipping a sugary-sweet soda, the first she enjoyed in over a decade, Rena gave thanks they met the SEALs. She also sent up prayers they would all survive this ordeal and prosper in the future, especially one very handsome and young blond who had been dealt a near-impossible task of reining in the horrible RaRa.

Mandy entered the tent set up for the women while the plane was decontaminated, and headed straight to Rena. “I have news for you.”

Rena’s stomach rolled with anxiety, and her hand clasped Ryta’s. “Okay?”

Turning the sheet of paper towards Rena, Mandy watched for the reaction and was presented with a kaleidoscope, ranging from surprise, to wonder, to elation, to tears filling her eyes.

“Really?”

“Yes.” Mandy beamed as Rena let out a little sob and pulled her daughter to her.

Ryta who had been absorbed in her book and not looked at the paper peered over at Miss Ellis with questioning eyes. “What?”

Mandy shared, “Rena’s parents have been searching for her ever since they received word rebels destroyed the mission. They never gave up hope she escaped and survived. Every year, when a new set of missionary recruits traveled to DRC they took stacks of fliers with Rena’s photo and would ask residents they came in contact with if they had seen her.”

“They searched for my mom?”

“Yes.”

Rena pulled herself together, wiping her eyes and sniffling. “What about Ryta? I won’t go home without her.”

“You won’t have to. Your citizenship has been confirmed, and one of my associates is starting the process for legal adoption, with immediate refugee status for Ryta until the adoption can be finalized.”

Mandy watched as the two hugged one another and dissolved into happy tears. She waited until they recomposed themselves before divulging the pièce de résistance. “Arrangements will be made to fly your family from Rio Rancho to Little Creek in accordance with our arrival.” She held out a satellite phone. “I have your parent’s number if you would like to call?”

Rena’s hand shook as she reached for the device. “I’m not sure what to say after so long.”

Mandy’s smile blossomed when Ryta suggested, “Hi, Mom and Dad. I’m coming home and bringing your granddaughter with me.”

Tears ran down Rena’s cheeks as she did just that.

* * *

**_Naval Hospital Naples, Italy – Stairwell_ **

Eric decided to take the stairs since it was closer than the elevator. His first stop would be to Spenser’s room. He needed to see for himself how the rookie fared. Next up would be Quinn, and then the rest of the men should be settled into their rooms, and he would go one by one to provide them an update on everyone, Jason would be last.

He entered the stairwell, the door closing silently behind him, and caught a furious and familiar voice coming from somewhere above. Eric halted and listened, forcing himself to stay in place as he wanted to both rage and rejoice at the content of the one-sided conversation.

“No, the righteous rattlesnake still lives … this didn’t work. You promised this would be the best way to rid the world of the hypocritical viper and not affect record profits. It was risky involving SEALs. They’re pissed and looking for someone to hang since their precious rookie was seriously injured. They don’t take kindly to that sort of thing.

“But, I swear, if I have to spend one more …” the voice trailed off and halted a moment before resuming, “I don’t care how much it costs … do it, and make sure it appears to be an accident. I’m done playing the cow-towing idiot.”

Eric backed out of the stairwell and pulled out his phone to contact the one person who would get to the bottom of what he overheard. When the line connected, he said, “Ellis, you need to look deeper into Wimbly. Just caught a portion of a phone conversation which sounded suspiciously like Richard and an unknown someone planned for Rake to die in DRC. Seems he’s not such an ardent fan of hers after all.”

After a short dialog, Eric hung up, stowed his rage, and returned to his previous task … first up Clay’s room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter than my normal chapters, but wanted to post something quicker. A bit of team whump ... but promise more Clay in the next chapter. Oh, and there is a method to my madness ... recovery time needed for all of Bravo ... so no traveling back to the States without Clay. :)


	8. Rough Waking and Retraining the Rookie

_**Naval Hospital Naples – Room 210** _

Clay roused, fighting to stay on the beach … warm, comfortable, relaxed, as the waves smoothly rolled in and lapped his feet. He wanted to stay forever … with Brian … where nothing hurt … where everything made sense … where he was not afraid of being rejected and could be himself … in his happy place. But the more he fought the more his world changed.

Something dragged him down deeper … or pulled him up … Clay was not quite sure. The only thing he was certain of is the more he moved the harder it became to breathe. Pain rippled through his chest, side, arm, and head. He wanted to go back … back … back to Brian and his safe place.

Needing to release the tether taking him where he didn’t want to go, Clay ripped it from his head. When the iron grasp on his arm was removed Clay jerked to the right, and tried to claw his way back to the beach. “Noooo. Nooooooo. I don’t want to leave. I wanna return. Brian, help me.”

“Clay, Clay, it’s okay … relax. Hey, quit struggling.” Eric tried to restrain the rookie before he pulled out stitches or shifted his ribs. When Clay yanked off the nasal cannula, Eric let go of his Spenser’s arm to reach for the call button. After the nurse came on the coms he shouted, “GET SOMEONE IN HERE NOW!”

Something warm invaded his body, starting in his forearm where Brain clasped him. “Take me back.”

 _“Alright, you can stay with me for a little longer,”_ Brain murmured.

Brain pulled him to his chest and held him. Clay grabbed hold of Brian’s lucky shirt, refusing to let go as his best friend … his only friend … the man he claimed as a brother … comforted him. The pain melted away, replaced with a sensation of floating in a tranquil ocean … gently rocked by the waves. His breathing eased, coming in slow regular breaths instead of rapid pants. Clay drifted back to his happy place … where he was wanted … where he was loved … where his only family resided.

Eric released a long exhale as Clay collapsed into his arms after the nurse injected the mild sedative. The rookie’s hand had twisted in his shirt, and Eric couldn’t resist stroking the young man’s back. This rookie caused emotions he never felt for a SEAL under his command before.

Though full-grown and one badass sailor, Clay Spenser could appear quite vulnerable … kid-like. The frantic, scared, and pleading blue eyes he just witnessed as Clay begged to go back somewhere, pierced Eric’s heart and left a seed. Something almost paternal began to grow as he cradled the man’s upper body while the meds took effect.

As Spenser’s body relaxed, Eric realized he should really lay him down, but he continued to hold him … offering comfort to the unconscious rookie.

“Sir, we need to lie him down. I need to make sure no sutures were torn,” Rosalie said as she resettled the oxygen tubing under her patient’s nose.

“Yeah, okay.” Eric moved with care to return Clay to the mattress, having to pry off the fingers still entwined in his t-shirt. He remained at the bedside while Rosalie did her checks. After she left, Eric peered down at Clay for several minutes and released a heavy sigh. “Bravo is never gonna be the same with you on the team. Rest easy now.”

* * *

_**Three Days Later – Naval Hospital Naples – Room 210** _

Ray lowered himself into the chair near the foot of Spenser’s bed. Fortunately for him, Ray ended up with the lightest bout of dysentery, though by no means left unscathed. He was the first to be out of bed, or more correctly, the restroom and had visited the others to check on them.

Sonny grumbled the loudest … ticked off the doctor wouldn’t allow him to go across the hall to sit with Clay. The remorse Sonny felt must be addressed, and the only way the Texan figured he could make amends was to be at Spenser’s side when the rookie awoke. But that was not happening. Instead, Davis and Blackburn, and now he took turns on that duty.

Part of Ray wanted to rip into Sonny for his behavior on the plane. But he realized that at the time Sonny reamed Clay, no one except himself, and those in Havoc witnessed what happened when they all rapidly exited the vehicles after the rebel’s RPG blew up the front truck. Sonny had no idea RaRa resisted Clay’s urging to move to the right. As a God-fearing man, he readily forgave his brother’s rash action but struggled to turn the other cheek for RaRa.

He wondered what the status was of the investigation into Richard Wimbly … Blackburn’s info had shocked him. The public relations rep seemed to be RaRa’s most robust supporter. If Richard were involved in a plot to kill her and hurt Bravo team in the process, Mandy would find out, and the house of cards Richard built would crumble, and the man would suffer appropriate repercussion.

A slight movement of Clay’s hand, as if he was waving, drew Ray’s attention. He rose and stepped closer. After a rough waking three days ago, Clay had been heavily medicated. The analgesics not only kept him in a twilight sleep state to manage his pain but made him completely unaware of the goings-on in his room.

To Ray’s thinking, the result was a welcome thing. Spenser would’ve surely been embarrassed by the use of a bedpan and care given by the nurses to keep him clean while dysentery ran its course. Last night the doctor began gradually reducing the meds so Clay would rouse since he needed to start consuming liquid nutrients.

His view of the beach receding, Clay waved goodbye to Brian, somewhat ready to go back. Brian spoke to him about family and brotherhood, reassuring him if he returned to the real world, everything would turn out alright. Trusting Brian had not come easy, but once they connected, he recognized his brother would never lie to him. So, he reluctantly left his happy place because he would miss having someone to confide in, someone who he didn’t have to keep his shields up with … as he had to do with Bravo.

His senses slowly awakened. A steady beep reached his ears. A light whoosh of cool air tickled his skin. Reaching the next level of consciousness, he noted a softness underneath him and a dull ache in his chest. Blinking his eyelids open, which took as much effort as flipping the enormous truck tires on the obstacle course, Clay found his vision a little fuzzy. Lifting his hand, he rubbed his eyes and then blinked again.

A ceiling came into focus, and he recognized he must be in a hospital. He wasn’t quite sure where. His brain still a bit foggy, he moved his gaze around the room trying to ascertain his location and stopped when he landed on Ray Perry, his 2IC. In a rough, unused voice, he asked, “Where am I?”

“Italy. Water?” Ray poured a bit into the small cup and tore off the paper covering the straw when Clay nodded. As he positioned the bendy straw between Spenser’s lips, he added, “Naples Naval Hospital to be exact. And to preempt your next question, you’ve been here almost five days.”

“Five?” Confused why Ray would be here, Clay pushed the plastic straw out after wetting his parched throat. _Bravo would’ve gone straight to Virginia … leaving me at the hospital. That is what happens, what always happened to me with my other teams. So why would Ray be here five days later? Do they actually care about me_?

“Yeah, the river was filthy. We all ended up with dysentery. I’m the first one allowed out of my room.”

“Oh.” Clay’s eyes dropped to the blanket covering him as Ray’s words dashed his hopes. _They didn’t remain here for me. Why would they? They think I’m a royal screw-up. Sonny couldn’t wait to let me have it on the plane and Hayes and Perry allowed him free rein to ride my ass. They’re only here because they got sick crossing the river. I’ll probably be blamed for that too._

Ray caught the dejection as Clay lowered his head. “Hey. We would’ve stayed anyway, brother.”

“Not how teams work. No reason for you to stick around. I’m fine. You can go now,” Clay mumbled as he shifted his gaze to the window, noting the twilight after sunset.

Unsure how to respond, Ray returned to his seat, contemplating Clay’s words. _What kind of teams was he on? Why would he think we wouldn’t remain?_

Then it dawned on him. _Sonny read him the riot act while he was clearly in no condition to debrief the mission. Well, hell. I shouldn’t be doing Sonny’s apologizing, but I can’t leave Clay thinking we don’t take care of our own._

“Clay, um look. Sonny didn’t know you had no choice but to follow Rake. I saw what happened, and the ISR footage captured it too. You didn’t do anything wrong, and Davis set Quinn straight. Sonny feels awful he ripped you a new one on the plane. He shouldn’t have reacted like that.

“If I had been aware of what he intended, I would’ve put a stop to it before it escalated to you trying to rise to defend your action and your lung collapsing again.”

Clay turned back and met Ray’s gaze. “You saw? You would’ve stopped him?”

“Yes.”

Further discussion halted as the nurse entered. “Mr. Spenser, glad to find you awake. I’m Rosalie, your nurse.” She stopped at the bedside, but her eyes went to Ray. “You’ve been out of bed too long. Time to go rest. I need to check my patient and privacy is in order.”

Ray stood. “I’ll be back later.” He grinned. “No hitting on Rosalie, she is happily married.”

As Ray exited, he turned right not left, which would take him to Jason’s room not his own.

* * *

_**Naval Hospital Naples – Room 215** _

“Jace, we got us a problem,” Ray said without preamble as he entered the room. He realized he spoke to an empty bed and sighed. He walked to the window and stared out at the twinkling city lights well after he heard the toilet flush, sink run, and Jason’s rolling IV pole squeaking as he made his way back to the bed.

“Okay … what is the problem?” Jason pulled the lightweight blanket over his lower half, not out of any sense of modesty but because the room was kept so dammed cold.

Turning to face his friend, Ray exhaled. “The kid.”

“What’s wrong now?” Jason’s anxiety increased.

Ray waved both hands in front of him. “No. No. Not like that. He’s alright … well, as alright as can be expected physically. He woke up and we talked.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be good?” Jason had difficulty following Ray. Usually, his 2IC was articulate and to the point — a rarity when he appeared flustered.

“Yeah, yeah. But it’s … well, damn, Jace, you should’ve seen his face when I told him why we are all still here.” Ray sunk into the chair. “I don’t know how to explain it … just hit me like when I tell Jameelah no when she wants something really badly.”

“Not following you, Ray. Take a breath and gather your thoughts.” Jason reached for his red Gatorade, needing to replenish his fluids. He’d never been so sick in his life, and he never wanted to repeat this. Changes would be made to the supplies they brought on the plane, so none of them ever exploded from both ends again.

Ray leaned back, took several sniper breaths, re-centering himself. “Okay, from the top. The kid wakes and asks where he is. I tell him and include he’s been here nearly five days. Confusion and something akin to hope lit his eyes, so I explained we all became ill.

“He dropped his gaze, and his whole demeanor changed. Damned if I can explain why, but he looked like a kicked puppy. I told him we would’ve remained anyway, but then he tells me that isn’t how teams work and I should just go. I then explained he did nothing wrong and I would’ve stopped Sonny’s rant had I been aware.”

Ray’s fists clenched. “He looked at me again … with fucking disbelief. What the hell? Jace, what did his file say about previous injuries? I get the impression no one on his teams gave a shit about him.”

Jason leaned his head on his pillow and ruminated on Ray’s remarks. “He got hurt a couple of times if I recall correctly, nothing serious and no mission specifics or circumstances surrounding them. He was on Team Three, and had six men under him at one point.”

“I think we need to read those after-action reports. Something isn’t right.” Ray settled his elbows on his thighs and entwined his fingers.

“No.”

“No?”

“The past doesn’t matter. If as you suggest, Spenser expected to be left behind, we need to change his mindset. Team Three isn’t Bravo. Spenser needs to learn we will never leave a man behind. And the best way is for us to show him through our actions.”

Ray nodded. “Team is family.”

“Yep. And we have a puppy to finish retraining … rookie’s no longer in the kennels … Bravo adopted him, and he's ours now.”

A chuckle emitted from Ray. “Not sure he would take kindly to being called a puppy.”

“Well, a Rottweiler puppy then … or a Rhodesian Ridgeback.”

“Nah, he’s too pretty. More like a Russian Wolfhound or a Golden Retriever.” Becoming serious, Ray said, “I think we’ll have our work cut out for us. Something tells me Clay’s bravado might be used as a mask. He wants to belong, but might not know how to trust. I mean with a father like Ash Spenser … growing up couldn’t have been too fun.”

“True.” Jason’s hand moved to his stomach as it wanted to reject the little he drank. “Shit.” He scooted off the bed and rushed for the bathroom … his red Gatorade would be making a return appearance.

Ray stood, deciding to give Jason privacy, recognizing they would talk again later. Still not up to par himself, he headed for his room, needing to rest.

* * *

_**Two Days Later – Naval Hospital Naples – Room 210** _

Radiant sunlight streaming in through the window as the sun rose above the horizon coaxed Clay to wake. He lay with his eyes closed, debating whether or not to click the button to request more pain meds. The past two days had been somewhat of a blur.

The heavy-duty painkillers made him a little fuzzy. The one thing he was certain of, he never knew who to expect in his room when his eyelids lifted, but someone was always here. He was never alone, not day or night. Ray had been the first to visit him, but afterward, the person sitting in the chair rotated between Davis, Blackburn, Jason, and Trent.

Quinn and Reynolds were the only two who had not been in here. Trent explained to him Brock had been hit hardest, retching long after the others quit. Sonny, on the other hand, had been restricted to his bed by the doctors because tripped while returning from the restroom and rammed his head into a solid wood cabinet.

The urge to pee became acute, and Clay’s hand reached for the button to raise the head of the bed without opening his eyes. He hissed as his ribs protested.

“Hey, need a hand or pain meds?”

“No. I’m good.” Clay turned eyes on Reynolds, his surprise increasing as he spied Cerberus lying at Brock’s feet, his head on his paws, snoozing.

A grin covered Brock’s face. “Snuck him in. Cerb’s real good at hiding under beds or behind chairs, so the nurses don’t catch him. He whined so much in the kennel on the plane that Rob, with the help of Blackburn, brought him last night.”

The plethora of words from the quiet dog handler further astonished Clay. He pushed himself to the edge of the mattress, slower than he would’ve liked, and clenched his jaw, refusing to exhibit how much he hurt. “I won’t tell.”

“Didn’t think you would rat him out.” Brock observed the painful movements, knowing via first-hand experience how much broken ribs hurt, but he held off asking if Clay wanted help again. If the rookie was anything like the rest of them, he would rather do things under his own power unless he was unable.

Clay gripped his IV pole. “Gotta … you know.”

“Yeah. Want anything to eat? I can round you up anything you want.”

As Clay took shuffling steps to the bathroom, his stomach rumbled at the suggestion of food. He was ravenous, but not for hospital fare. Before he could answer, Brock rose and gave a command to Cerb, who belly crawled under the bed.

“Rosalie showed me where they keep the raspberry sherbet. Want some?”

Something cool and light sounded just about right so Clay nodded. “Sure.”

By the time he finished in the restroom and opened the door, Brock had returned, and on the rolling table sat half-a-dozen cups of the raspberry treat. Getting back in bed and situating himself left Clay sweating and panting.

Rosalie entered and noted the creases around her patient’s furrowed brow, indicating pain. “Brock, you are right. He needs relief.” She cleaned the port after checking Clay’s ID and injected the analgesics.

Clay’s eyes shot to Reynolds. “You asked her to bring meds?”

“Yep. No need to be in agony. I had broken ribs once. Sucked. And they hurt like hell with every little movement.” Brock snagged one of the sherbets and opened it.

Finished with Clay’s meds, Rosalie smiled as she crouched and pulled something from her pocket before waving it near the floor. “Wanna treat, puppy?”

Cerb’s nose poked out from under the bed, tempted by the smell of rich roast beef.

“How did you know?” Brock hung his head as Cerb nibbled the dog biscuit.

Rosalie stood and said, “The night nurse told me. My dog Rex, loves those treats.”

“How did you have treats here?” Brock asked.

“I didn’t. Called my husband before he left our place and he brought me a little baggie of the biscuits our dog Rex likes. Now, you need to ensure he remains hidden when the doctors make rounds, but as far as I’m concerned, Cerb is a member of your team and welcome to stay. Nothing better than ruffling a bit of fur to relax.”

She refocused on Clay. “Can I bring you something more nutritious for breakfast?”

Clay’s first smile bloomed. “No, thanks. This is perfect.” He scooped up a spoonful of the raspberry sherbet.

“If you change your mind, use the call button.” Rosalie turned and headed out.

The two men sat in silence as they consumed all six sherbets. His stomach satisfied, for now, Clay rested his head on his pillow and closed his eyes. A slight jostling, nothing to cause him pain, made him reopen. His second smile grew as he peered at soft brown orbs on a furry head.

“Cerb likes you. I’ll call him down if you want.” Brock raised the footrest on the recliner, intending to stay put for a while, ready for a little snooze, but unwilling to return to his room.

“No, he’s fine.” As if Cerb understood Clay granting permission to remain, the hair missile circled three times before settling at the foot of the bed, laying his head on Clay’s shin and staring up at him.

“Did Cerb get sick?” Clay asked.

“No. Damned glad I carried him across the river.” Brock yawned and shut his eyes. “Sorry, still tired. Go ahead and watch TV if you want.”

“You don’t need to stay.”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“It’s what Bravo does.”

“What?”

“Take care of our own. You’re one of us now. Get used to it.”

Clay gaped at Reynolds. Three little sentences that his heart seized upon. Not wanting to sound like a needy child by asking if Reynolds and the others actually wanted him, Clay kept his mouth shut and accepted them at face value. A third smile crossed his features, this one reaching and lighting his eyes.

Picking up the remote, he switched on the television and flipped through the channels until he landed on a replay of a rugby game. Somewhere in the middle of the broadcast, he drifted off to sleep, content for the first time in ages.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter. :)


	9. Reaping What You Sow

_**Four Days Later – Naval Hospital Naples – Room 210** _

Clay stared at his lunch tray … sick to death of hospital food … contemplating asking one of the guys to bring him an MRE. Now that was saying something because Meals Ready to Eat was a misnomer if there ever was one. Typically, he wouldn’t wish them on his worst enemy unless he wanted them to choke to death. But the reddish-brown undistinguishable glob on his plate made him realize there was something worse than MREs.

Shifting his gaze to the windows, he thought about getting up and finding the raspberry sherbet, but that would require moving and that still fucking hurt. Escorted by the physical therapist, he did laps around the floor several times a day to prevent blood clots in his legs from laying in bed, and to exercise his lungs. After each time he was in agony and thoroughly wiped out … so fatigued he napped for several hours. Well, to be honest, the pain meds were partially responsible for his extended naps.

In the past few days, he spent more time alone in his room. He debriefed with Blackburn and Jason, providing his after-action account, which conflicted in almost every detail from what RaRa said. He still couldn’t wrap his head around why she accused him of wanting to rape her and ripping her shirt to accost her. And putting her in front of charging rhinos … laughable.

But it was not a laughing matter. The brass took her accusations seriously and insisted on a full inquiry. Probably because whoever arranged for Bravo to escort her in the first place … which they should’ve never been used in this capacity … pulled some sort of strings. Blackburn assured him all would eventually be sorted out. Jason did too and told him not to worry.

Though being told not to, and actually not, were two separate things. Being a tier one operator had been his only goal in life. Now some redheaded bitch who he risked his life to save, repays him by kicking him in the ribs, busting them, and making ridiculous claims which could ruin his career before it ever really began.

And RaRa was not his only concern. Ray said Sonny was sorry for reaming him, but as of yet, the Texan had not shown his face once in his room. Quinn had been released three days ago without stopping in and had not been back to visit … not once. Tension on a team could get people killed, and if Quinn couldn’t or wouldn’t accept him … then Clay knew who would be transferred off Bravo regardless of he got along with the other four … him.

His mood souring by the minute, Clay’s desire to hit something increased. It was a vicious cycle because he could barely walk to the damned restroom without being winded … so ripping into a heavy bag to relieve his pent-up rage would be out of the question … which only made him angrier.

Coming to a boiling point, Clay’s hand swiped across his rolling table, sending the lunch tray slamming into the wall. He growled as the congealed reddish-brown whatever dripped down the white wall.

* * *

_**Naval Hospital Naples – Outside Room 210** _

Sonny stood rooted in place, more weight on his uninjured leg and the cane Trent made him use. Four times a day … every day for the past three days, he stood here trying to figure out how to apologize to the kid. And each time, he turned and walked away, unable to find the words.

No one would ever accuse him of being a conversationalist. He could do funny, sarcastic, a quip to break the tension, but touchy-feely seemed to be out of his repertoire. He was a pipe-hitter, through and through. More comfortable with firing bullets than words of remorse. Hell, the Canadian Special Forces motto might apply to him … Deeds Not Words.

Jason’s glare this morning meant bossman was at his limit and about to do something drastic if he didn’t get his ass in gear and resolve the dissension between him and Clay. This was all his fault, and Sonny accepted that … but accepting and verbalizing he screwed up to a rookie … two very different skillsets.

A crashing sound, followed by a growl resolved his dilemma and had Sonny rushing into Spenser’s room, worried the kid fell and re-injured himself.

* * *

**_Naval Hospital Naples – Room 210_ **

Sonny halted four steps into the room, staring at Spenser who sat in the bed, unhurt … well, not more hurt. “What the hell?”

Clay’s head whipped to the doorway. His mood in the pits, he ground out, “You got the wrong room. Get the fuck out. I don’t need any of your shit!”

“Well, hold on there, Rough Rider.”

His eyes narrowing, Clay glared at Quinn. “I said leave.”

Sonny’s brow arched as he chewed his toothpick, but he remained in place. He held Clay’s gaze and realized why Jason was so pissed at him. The kid looked like crap … dark circles under his lackluster blue eyes. Nothing like the cocky go-getter who arrived raring to go in the DRC ten days ago. Hell, the rookie had looked better on the plane when he tried to defend himself.

“Look, um, well.” Sonny stopped, the words not coming.

“Go! And don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.” Clay turned away. _Where did that come from?_ His vitriolic response not what he expected to emerge, something in him driving him to be a royal jackass to Quinn, perhaps the need for retribution of sorts … or just a foul mood.

And the same could be said for Sonny’s retort, “Little Boy Blue’s having himself a real fine pity party.”

“Screw you!”

“Nah, I prefer women.” Sonny limped around the bed … but stayed out of arms’ reach. He turned his gaze to the mess on the wall before focusing on one pissed off rookie. “I’m not leaving until you get your ass outta that bed and clean up your mess. Nurse Rosalie ain’t your maid, and you ain’t Richie Rich.”

Clay glowered at Bravo Three as he rounded the bed, giving him the silent treatment since apparently, the man refused to heed his demand he leave. He noted the cane and the limp and wondered about it. No one told him Sonny had been injured other than tripping and hitting his head coming out of the restroom, but hell if he would ask him how his leg got hurt.

Sonny didn’t miss the direction of Clay’s gaze before they resolutely redirected out the window. Nor did he fail to read something more than anger in those blue orbs. He might not be a man of words, but he could read body language … a necessary skill in the field, and one that kept them alive on many occasions.

The overly rigid posture had to be painful on the rookie’s ribs. And beyond the heat in the kid’s eyes, Sonny glimpsed something akin to what had reflected in his grandninny’s eyes the day his grandfather died … fear and longing.  None of that made any sense to Quinn. The rookie would be running with them again as soon as his ribs healed … several weeks for sure, but he would be back.

Sonny remained quiet, studying the recalcitrant rookie as Ray’s, Jason’s, and hell even Brock’s words swirled in his head. Reynolds, a man of even fewer words than he had unleashed a category five hurricane of them on him yesterday. _Could they all be right? Are his swagger and overconfidence armor he uses to protect a scared and lonely kid inside?_

He lowered himself into the recliner when his leg began throbbing. With the tense silence stretching between them, he got comfortable because he could wait the kid out … one benefit of not being a man of words. Sonny pushed back his cowboy hat and maintained a relaxed façade as he kept his gaze on the rookie.

When he couldn’t take Quinn’s presence any longer, Clay shifted to the other side of the mattress, dangled his feet, and pushed off his bed, holding in the hiss that wanted to come out. He refused to show weakness in front of Quinn. Thankful the IV had been removed yesterday, less of an impediment in walking, Clay headed for his door.

“Where, ya going, Ricky Raccoon?” Sonny rose and steadied himself with the damned cane.

“None of your business. And the name is Spenser to you.” Clay shuffled out of his room.

Sonny caught up, unsure what was going through Spenser’s head, but he couldn’t help but challenge him. “How bout a trip to the rose garden … if you can make it? Ten bucks say you can’t.”

Clay gritted his teeth as he eyed the annoying Texan. “I’ll beat your ass there every day and twice on Sunday.”

“Big talk.” Sonny guffawed. “Make it twenty.”

The race was on … though in truth it was two turtles racing … with their injuries neither was up to being a rabbit.

* * *

_**Naval Hospital Naples – Rose Garden** _

Completely winded, but triumphant in his victory, Clay gingerly lowered himself onto one of the benches surrounded by fragrant red, white, pink, and yellow roses. A place designed to renew a person’s spirit when cooped up in a sterile hospital for any length of time. He met Sonny’s gaze. “You owe me twenty.”

Sitting on the bench across the narrow path so he could face the rookie, Sonny nodded and pulled out a Jackson, and handed the cash to Clay. Resettling, he said, “I owe you more than that.”

As Clay tucked the bill into his shorts pocket, Sonny took a breath and dived in. “I’m sorry. Had I known what happened, I wouldn’t have laid into you on the plane. I’m not sure what drove me to be a raging bull. One minute you were talking … and shit …”

Sonny pulled off his hat and raked fingers through his hair. “And the next you were gaspin’ for air and your lips turnin’ blue. Trent barked orders, and well, he was shoving a tube down your throat. I thought I killed ya.” He blew out another breath.

“When RaRa kicked you in the jungle, I wanted to kill her. Wrap my hands around that raptor’s scrawny throat and squeeze the life out of her. Her breathing is a waste of resources … she’s using air someone better needs.”

Quinn shifted the toothpick to one side, chewed a moment, then grinned. “You’re someone better … one helluva lot better.”

Clay’s brows drew together, surprised, but not ready to forgive.

“Lookie here … I’m not one for fancy speeches … hell, tried to find the words ever since that night … stood outside your room for three friggin’ days trying to come in.” He pulled out the toothpick, and his expression displayed his remorse, his eyes misting up unbidden. “Jesus, Kid, I’m so sorry. I screwed up, and you paid the price. That don’t sit well with me. Not asking for your forgiveness … only a chance to earn it.”

Dumbfounded, Clay’s mouth gaped as the Mighty, Always-Riding-My-Ass Quinn rubbed his eyes to wipe away what Clay believed to be tears. Unsure what to say, Clay asked, “How’d you hurt your leg?”

Sonny blinked several times. “Kinda dusty in here … messing with my eyes.” Once freed of the liquid, Sonny replied, “Rubble from the building fell on me as I ran after you when you went after RaRa. Ray spotted me, and they came and got me before the rebels did the Grim Reaper’s bidding.”

Shifting to relieve his ribs, Clay let the details roll around in his mind. “So, you were hurt, and you still came after me?”

“Hell yeah! Ain’t leaving a brother behind … no matter how wet behind the ears he is.” Sonny winked. “Trent stitched me up … I was good to go.”

Being called brother overrode any irritation being referred to as inexperience caused. Clay stared, his mouth gaping slightly again as _‘brother’_ rang in his mind repeatedly.

Noting the change, Sonny shifted away from the uncomfortable topic and asked, “So, did you really call rhinos, cubby unicorns?”

Clay chuckled, his mood lightening. “In my defense, I was feverish.”

Sonny laughed. Things might not be the best between him and Spenser yet, but at least they climbed the first hurdle. Jason and the rest of the team would stop riding his ass now, and Davis would refrain from giving him the snake-eye every time she saw him. “Don’t know about you, but I could use a beer.”

A sigh emitted. “Yeah, but Trent and the doctors won’t allow one while I’m on pain meds.” He shifted once again. In his desire to beat Sonny, Clay overtaxed himself, and he reaped more than his twenty bucks reward. As his pain level began to ratchet up exponentially, he realized he would be paying for his recklessness. In retrospect, a debt he would readily bear, but privately to avoid potential ridicule.

“I better return to my room.” An unwanted hiss came out as Spenser rose to his feet.

Sonny stood. He heard the hiss but would not comment on it … he hated when others noticed his weakness. And his damned cane roared it out to all who saw him. He wouldn’t baby or coddle Spenser … it wouldn’t be appreciated and might destroy the progress they made here. “Well, I’m gonna stop by the cafeteria. Want anything?”

Wrapping an arm around his torso, his respirations more labored and rapid than he desired, Clay shook his head. A dose of painkillers and a long nap were in his immediate future. They parted ways a short time later, Clay heading to the elevators and Sonny to the café. 

* * *

_**Naval Hospital Naples – Room 210** _

Rousing from his dreamworld, a place which gave him respite from his pain, Clay yawned and gradually opened his eyes as low whispers, the words indistinct, tickled his ears. The first thing he noticed was his room was dim, and it was not because his blinds had been pulled down because he spied the city’s lights in the distance. _I must’ve slept the entire afternoon away._

His stomach rumbled, hungry after not eating breakfast or lunch, and the smell of something delicious wafted to him. Clay turned from the window and found the source of both.

“Well, bout time you be wakin’, Rip Van Winkle. Pizza is gitin’ cold, and beer’s gitin’ warm,” Sonny drawled then took a sip of his beer before setting it down and lowering the recliner’s footrest and making it slowly to his feet.

Clay’s eyes widened as he noted the entire team plus Blackburn, Davis, and Ellis in his room … everyone sitting or standing, holding beers or slices of pizza.

Sonny made his way to the bed with another bottle in his hand as Trent put a paper plate with two slices of pizza on his lap.

Popping the top on the brown long-neck bottle, Sonny grinned. “Can’t have real beer yet, but I brought ya a root beer.”

Finding his voice as he noted Cerb curled up with a rawhide bone in the corner, happily gnawing on it, Clay asked, “Why is everyone here?”

Jason along with the others all encircled Clay’s bed and became the spokesman. “Celebrating.”

“What?”

“Several things. One, you’re being released tomorrow, and we’ll be flying home. Two, thanks to the diligent efforts of Ellis after a tip from Blackburn, Richard Wimbly has been arrested for attempted murder among other things. Three—”

“Wait! What? Murder?” Clay reached for the root beer Sonny offered him.

Mandy’s lips curved in a satisfied smile. “Seems Richard couldn’t stand RaRa anymore than all of us. He used his father’s military connections to arrange for her trip and Bravo’s escort, all to facilitate her demise. He readily confessed and gave up his accomplice with a little interrogation. The CEO of her record label began to view her as a liability given her inability to curb her racist and un-Christian comments and behavior.”

Ray interjected, “Hypocrite, because planning a murder to protect profits isn’t so Christianly either.”

“Wow.” Clay took a bite of his pizza, savoring the flavor. _At last, something decent to eat._

Jason turned to Blackburn. “You tell him the third reason for our celebration.”

Eric nodded. “With pleasure. You’ve been fully exonerated of all charges Rake claimed. In addition, you’ve been awarded a purple heart and several commendations for your courage and fortitude in the face of an overwhelming enemy force.”

“Yeah, anyone who can survive being around and keep from killing RaRa deserves a medal,” Lisa quipped.

The room chuckled at first, and laughter rumbled when Clay said, “I did consider it a time or two … especially when she slipped in the river. Would’ve been easy to let her just drown.”

Brock stepped forward and offered Clay a small package. “This is from a sweet girl who wanted to thank you for being kind to her.”

Clay set down his pizza, wiped his hands on a napkin, and opened the paper. He stared at the photo of Ryta and three others, all beaming. “Who are they?”

Ray’s hand landed on Clay's shoulder. “That is Ryta, her mother Rena, and Rena’s parents. Your actions that day had far-reaching positive results. Rena is finally reunited with her parents in the States, and Ryta on the path to citizenship and being officially adopted by Rena. You did good, brother.” He went on to explain the entire situation and how Rena would’ve stayed in DRC for Ryta’s sake, unwilling to abandon her chosen daughter.

A grin formed, but Clay said, “I didn’t do anything … I didn’t even know Ryta’s mother was American. I’m happy for her though, all four of them … having a family is something I never …” Clay trailed off before he revealed too much.

They didn’t need to know he would’ve given almost anything at Ryta’s age to have a parent who would put his needs above his own. To have a father who loved him enough to visit for more than one or two days every year. Pushing his thought aside, Clay asked, “What if anything happened to RaRa?”

The change of topic wasn’t lost on any of Bravo. They all caught sight of the raw pain which flashed for a fraction of a second in the rookie’s eyes. But Jason let that be for the moment, and responded, “Well, now that is the icing on the cake.”

“Really?” Clay took a swig of root beer before picking up his pepperoni pizza again.

Jason nodded. “Oh, yeah. Somehow a fan got hold of a video recording of RaRa ranting, raving, and making repulsive and racist remarks about the children in the DRC orphanage and school she visited. It went viral, and the backlash has been rapid and virulent. Former fans showed up at the record label and started a raging bonfire with RaRa records, CDs, and other merchandise.

“The media outlets jumped on the bandwagon, and some of the investigative journalists dug into her background and finances. She has been funding a radical white supremacist group for years using a money laundering scheme. RaRa or as the ex-fans are calling her now NaNa will now be facing charges along with the members of the group who blew up several minority businesses since the funds she funneled to them were used to purchase the explosives.”

Mandy added, “All Rake’s assets have been seized under a domestic terrorism statute. She is penniless. She will also face assault charges if you want to lay them against her for busting your ribs and puncturing your lung. Trent and Sonny are witnesses to her attack on you and provided statements.”

Clay considered the option and shook his head. “No. Don’t want the hassle … or to be anywhere near her again. Besides, don’t want my picture out there or the publicity. Make it hard to maintain a low profile and put the team at risk.”

“Your choice, Poster Boy, but we’d have your back if you wanted to go for it,” Sonny stated with resolute conviction.

His gaze moving to Sonny, Clay nodded. He took a moment to study the faces of his team, and something Adam told him when they went to notify Brain’s mother of his demise … and found Brain made up a family … came to mind. _The teams are all the family any of us need. Teams are your real family … you don’t know it yet, but you will._

A lump formed in Clay’s throat and he fought to keep his eyes from dropping to his lap, choosing to return his focus on Sonny. “Thanks for coming to rescue me. I wouldn’t be here, without …” he desperately wanted to say family, but worried they would think him needy.

Five voices, Jason’s, Ray’s, Sonny’s, Trent’s, and Brock’s, all said in unison, “Team’s family.” Their remark punctuated by a loud “Ruff!” as Cerb hopped up on the end of his bed.

Lisa grinned as Sonny broke the emotional tension and restored a lightness as he said, “Better eat up, you’re gonna need your energy if you’re gonna rehab with me. I aim to be reclaiming my twenty.”

Clay chuckled. “You can try … and fail.” He took a huge bite. Though still a rookie, and unsure of how things would work out on Bravo and Sonny especially in the long run, for now, he would enjoy having men around him who he would risk his life for without reservation … his family.

* * *

_**Six Weeks Later – Virginia – Bravo Cages** _

Clay beamed as a grumpy Sonny forked over one bill after another, as he claimed his reward for beating the Texan on the latest drills. “What, this makes six times I beat you?”

Brock laughed. “Nope, seven.” He tossed the ball and Cerb happily retrieved it.

“Shut up … you’re the silent member of this team,” Sonny groused as he slapped the last twenty of the hundred the rookie won today on a double or nothing wager.

Jason leaned back and grinned at Ray. Things had settled into a groove … his team gelling well as Clay and Sonny both recovered. His wrist had healed too, but Bravo remained off rotation until the rookie was cleared. With any luck that would be next week, though, in his mind, Spenser was ready to go now … if his performance on the obstacle course and running the hills were the only considerations.

The door opening had all the guys turning towards it.

“Hey, Davis, what brings you here? We spun up?” Sonny asked as he rested against his cage.

She shook her head. “Blackburn wants you all in the team room right away, though.”

They all shut their doors and followed her out.

* * *

_**Bravo Team Room** _

Six men, a dog, and Lisa entered after placing their phones in the receptacle outside the room. They took their seats and waited for Blackburn to address them.

Eric’s expression was unreadable as he zeroed in on Clay. “Been informed of some recent events where the result is … Miss Rake is dead.”

“What?” Sonny blurted out.

“How?” Clay requested.

“Although segregated from the general population in jail for her protection, since she couldn’t afford bail, Rake continued to suffer diarrhea of the mouth. Two weeks ago, several of the women in her block took offense and beat her severely.

“She was transferred to another facility, and while recuperating in the infirmary, she let her mouth run rampant again when she noted one of the other patients was a woman of color. When she healed and was placed in a cell, the inmates hassled her day and night.

“Last night, there was a riot and Rake was found dead in the restroom afterward with her throat slit and her tongue cut out. There is an investigation, but finding the culprit will be difficult, if not impossible since there are no cameras recording in the showers and the general chaos at the time of her death.”

Ray’s soft voice broke the ensuing silence. “Whoever sows injustice reaps calamity, and the rod they wield in fury will be broken.” His eyes landed on Clay as he added with a smile, “Sow righteousness for yourselves, reap unfailing love.”

In his renowned relaxed manner, Sonny broke the pall as he drawled, “Rookie owes another case of beer.”

“Why?” Clay turned to Quinn.

Sonny reclined in his chair, grinned, pulled out his toothpick and replied, “First time we rescued the rookie. Don’t make it a habit, Kid.” 

Clay couldn’t hide the smile which spread. That would be one case he wouldn’t mind buying … he could afford it with all the money he won off Sonny lately. And honestly, if it were coming out of his meager funds, Clay would still gladly buy the case because, with any luck, Bravo would become his real family.

_~~ The End ~~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hoped you liked this ending. Drop me a comment and let me know what you thought.


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